Christine dans Deux
by Nyasia A. Maire
Summary: Christine watches The Phantom of Opera Movie. Why does the Phantom's pain and loneliness feel so familiar? One night she begins to discover the reasons why...as he appears in her den. Modern & 19th Century, Some Angst, Movie Based, MATURE! EC Really!
1. Prologue: Whispers

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

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**SUMMARY: **One soul. Two bodies. One soul torn in two. One man. One woman. Separated by time. United by love. Christine Maire watches _The Phantom of the Opera_ with her daughter. Why does the Phantom's pain feel as if it is her pain? Her loneliness? One night she discovers the reason why... (Movie Based, EC, Mature Material contained in some chapters …)

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**DISCLAIMER: I make no claim of ownership in regards to ANY and ALL author's fictional character (i.e. Gaston Leroux's Erik, Christine, Raoul, etc.). Furthermore, I make no claim of being the author of any poetry or lyrics reproduced herein. Some characters portrayed herein are based on actual historical persons--however, I have taken artistic license with personality traits and appearances as a plot device. All other characters are of my own creation. Unless otherwise noted, all historical events in the tale are either factual, actual or based on true events. ****

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Chapter One - Prologue: Whispers**

She sits in loneliness. Surrounded by emptiness. What is this hollow pain in her breast? Why does she spill silent tears into her pillow in the dark? When will she catch her breath? What is the pain that nibbles away at her soul? She longs for . . . something . . . in quiet despair. Her life one of utter solitude, denial and regret.

_**Leaves begin to skip along the gutter.**_

"**_When did you stop listening to my voice? Why did you stop believing?"_**

There are no happily-ever-after endings, just another tomorrow. Happy endings are lies told in fairy tales as the comforting end of a tale for sleepy children, a convenient device to end a story. She is a child no longer. Happily-ever-after endings are the step-children of Pandora's greatest plague . . . _hope_.

"**_Why do you not believe? Is this to be yet another lifetime spent in yearning and searching in vain?"_**

"Mom?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why do you like to watch this movie so much?"

"I don't know."

_**The wind begins to whisper.**_

"**_Yes, you do!"_**

"Mom, you watch it all the time. Why?"

Silence, but for the shrieking voice of a coloratura soprano.

"Mom."

"I'm thinking!"

And still, there is silence. My soul seeks.

"Mom."

The silence stretches and takes form. The unspoken answer draws a weak, gasping breath and is born. And still, the shrieking voice of a coloratura soprano continues.

"Oh! Come on! I don't know."

_**As the wind caresses the branches of trees, the whispers take flight.**_

"**_Yes, you do! Speak the words! Only you have the power to heal! Only you have the strength to leap the chasm of sorrow and bring an end to the waking nightmare!"_**

"MOM!"

"Do you want an answer? Or do you want the truth?"

"**_THE TRUTH, DAMMIT!"_**

"Uh, the truth."

"Hmmm. Fine! You want an answer?"

"Uh huh."

"**_YES!"_**

"Well, even though I know it could never happen because, after all, it is only a movie, every time I watch it part of me wishes or hopes HE will get the girl this time. That he won't have to be alone any more. There is something about him. So, familiar."

"**_OH, YES!!!"_**

"Look! Goose bumps! I miss him."

"What did you say?"

"**_SPEAK!"_**

The woman stares at the goose bumps on her arms for a moment her misty eyes travel far away. She sighs.

"I miss him."

"Oh, you mean dad? You miss dad?"

"**_SPEAK!!!"_**

She blinks and her eyes clear and return to focus on her worried daughter's face. She lies.

"That's right. I miss dad."

A pair of sighs.

"Mom?"

"Yes."

"She's really stupid for not picking him, isn't she?"

"No, not stupid. She's just a foolish child."

"Foolish? Why?"

"She loves them both, but doesn't have the strength to choose for herself. She let them decide for her. She took the path of least resistance. She accepted the conventions of society. She wasn't strong enough to risk herself and journey along the road less traveled."

"I don't understand what you are saying, but I love you anyway, Mom!"

"I know. I don't understand it myself. Oh, I love you, too, Baby!"

"Is it okay if I go play in my room now? All my homework is done."

"Okay."

Silence again and she glances at the clock.

Another sigh. A single sigh.

_**Suddenly, the wind whips around the house. The whispers begin to grow.**_

"**_SPEAK THE WORDS!"_**

"Bedtime in 25 minutes, okay?"

"Mom!"

"No arguments, 25 minutes!"

"Okay."

The child's grumbling voice fades into the darkness.

_**The wind howls and the whispers whistle shrilly in the night.**_

"**_SPEAK THE WORDS, WOMAN!!!"_**

The woman stares at the television screen, which holds the image of a man's outstretched hand clad in a black leather glove. The small woman's gaze is held transfixed by the man's hand. She visibly trembles and is suddenly still. Her eyes roll up, leaving only the whites of her eyes visible. She once again slips to the land of long ago, a place far away. The kingdom of Nod. She throws her head back; her arms lift heavenward in supplication. She whispers words unknown to this incarnation, but the whispers live, breathe and burn through their soul.

_**The wind joins with the whispering voice of the woman. Wind and woman unite in quiet duet.**_

"**_Aucune imbécile n'est elle. Juste un enfant. Un enfant innocent. Perdu et seulement. Aspirer à conseils. Elle n'est pas celle. Pas celui dans deux. Pas le femme-enfant. Elle est le chemin, qui mène à notre âme. Trop long nous avoir vous a attendu pour me trouver. Nous pouvons n'attendre plus! Erik! Vous êtes appelés! Une âme! Esprit à l'esprit! Coeur au coeur! Amour à l'amour! Lumière à l'obscurité! Asunder déchiré par âme! Est maintenant l'heure de guérir! Maintenant une âme doit réparer!"_**

_**("No fool is she. Just a child. An innocent child. Lost and alone. Yearning for guidance. She is not the one. Not the one in twos. Not the woman-child. She is the path, which leads to our soul. Too long have we waited for you to find me. We can wait no longer! Erik! You are summoned! One Soul! Mind to mind! Heart to heart! Love to love! Light to dark! Soul torn asunder! Now is the time to heal! Now one soul must mend!")**_

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	2. Christine, I love you!

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

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DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One**

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**Chapter Two – Christine, I love you!**

October 8, 2006

Be forewarned! It is entirely possible that I may be losing my mind.

With that said, since I am currently waiting and time passes so slowly when one just sits and waits, I decided that now is probably the best time for me to sit down and put pen to paper. Well, actually, quill to parchment. As of this moment, I am uncertain how this story will play out, but perhaps writing about the events of the last 24 hours will help. And, if I am in actuality losing my mind, the men with the white coats may find this journal an interesting account of the day I began my descent into madness.

Yesterday, while my life was not perfect, I had reconciled myself to what I considered to be the facts of life. My life. I was the widow of a wonderful man whom I had married at the cautious age of 39, had borne him a daughter at 41, had lost him at 45 and now at 48 had reconciled to being alone. Raising our daughter and working were my only concerns. My interests limited strictly to business. I felt no need for a man to complicate my life. I was content to lie to myself and say I already had the love of my life. Who was I to ask for more? What made me so special that I had a right to complain? The world is full of sad, lonely people. I was one among many. That was yesterday when my life contained one linear path of reality.

That was yesterday.

Today, life is a bit more complicated. However, before I plunge headlong into the middle of my story, I will restrain myself. Show those men in the white coats that I can still hold a cognizant thought in my mind. So, I return to the incident that set me on the path of my strange and wondrous affair. I decided to watch a movie with Trystin, my daughter.

Trystin is a precocious seven year old. Her favorites are "B" horror movies, musicals and anything with Johnny Depp. I, on the other hand, love film noire, romances and musicals. After considering several other selections and not being able to agree on any of them, we decided to watch _The Phantom of the Opera_. It's one of our favorites. Both of us love the music and although we both knew it to be impossible (well, at least it seemed that way yesterday) we always wish Christine would choose the Phantom instead of Raoul. Trystin once told me that if she were Christine, she would pick the Phantom. When I asked her why, she told me that the Phantom was very handsome and he was more exciting than Raoul. Then, she paused for a moment and continued by saying that he's smarter than Raoul too. So, _The Phantom of the Opera_ seemed an excellent choice for the two of us to watch.

We settled in and spent a very enjoyable Friday night watching the movie and having fun discussing the psychological motivations of the characters. (Honestly, the questions she asks would make a college professor proud! I told you she is precocious!)

After settling her into her bed, I decided to watch the movie again as I love the characters. I have often imagined what it would be like to be the object of the Phantom's obsession and wondered what it would be like to have a man so thoroughly and completely in love with me. Trystin is right; Christine is a fool.

I retreated to my favorite room, the den, and settled in for a short diversion from reality. As I watched the movie, life continued as normal until I heard a voice call out that did not come from the television. The voice called, _**"Christine."**_

Startled, I fumbled for the remote control. I pressed the pause button, freezing the movie and listened … nothing. Silence. Just as it should be. I looked at the screen and realized I must have been dozing and in the place between sleep and wakefulness, had heard dialogue from the movie. The scene frozen before my eyes was Meg finding Christine in the Chapel just after her first performance. The Phantom called Christine's name after Meg had called to her. I reassured myself that I must have heard the echoing voice as I drifted half-asleep. The Phantom couldn't possibly be calling to me. (Oh! I apologize. I believe I neglected to tell you, my name is Christine. Christine Maire.)

So, I once again pressed the pause button and the movie resumed. I lay down on the couch and snuggled with my favorite blanket and two pillows. Time (and the movie) once again proceeded ever forward as always in a straight line until, a scene near the end of the movie when the Phantom sang, _**"Christine, I love you."**_

Those words surrounded me. They filled my mind with desperate, alien emotions: obsession, lust, rage and sorrow. The words echoed through the room. My eyes flew open and when I made a grab for the remote, I missed and then froze.

He was there. Sitting on the floor of my den with his back in front of my television with the Persian monkey organ grinder music box in front of him. He was unmasked, distraught and his cheeks streaming with tears. Behind him, the movie continued to play. Time moved on even though the two of us were frozen. The sound of Christine and Raoul singing broke the spell, which had held us motionless.

He nimbly leapt to his feet while I, on the other hand, struggled to rise from the couch (my leaping days are far in the past.) His shocked eyes darted about the room in confusion and when his eyes fell on me, he quickly backed away until he stopped abruptly, butted up against the television and could go no further. I, on the other hand, in my surprise had attempted to rise without the aid of my cane and had fallen to my knees instead of gaining my feet. My right knee throbbed with brilliant colors of pain exploding before my eyes as a result of my less than graceful landing. He looked down on me. I peered up at him. I thought he was so handsome, even more so in three dimensions. The only thing I could do was kneel there, stare at him with my mouth slightly agape while trying to hide the fact that my body desired him. Yes, in that instant I felt a fiery tingle in my chest, which swiftly spread everywhere, even down "there." (I will admit this to you now as considering the situation in which I currently find myself, I can no longer be embarrassed by such trivial matters.) I saw some unreadable emotions play across his face and in the depths of his eyes. Oh! Those eyes! Words can do no justice describing his sea-foam green eyes! I wanted him to look directly into my eyes, but after his initial look, he avoided my gaze. Perhaps, it was the thought of whether or not I would scream. Perhaps not. I never thought to ask him until now and now it seems so unimportant.

I feel I should interject some small pieces of my past here. I guess people who know me would say I've had more than my share of trials and tragedies. At 10, I lost most of my hearing to a stupid prank played on me by my brother. At 12, I began experiencing unexplained bouts of severe vertigo. At 21, I was almost beaten to death by a drunk I had once called husband. At 26, a drunk driver killed my grandpa, my mother and Adrianna, my first child. At 27, I had a stroke and had to learn how to speak all over again. And then, of course, as I've already said, at 45 my husband died. Finally, at 46 I slipped and fell. A stupid little accident that affects me for the remainder of my life. It was all my fault! It never would have happened if I'd had my mind in the present instead of the future. Well, I fell and the result? A partially paralyzed leg that has brought a completely new definition of the word, pain. Yes, the interior nerve is dead, but not the exterior nerves. Therein lies the paradox. I feel nothing and I feel everything. I touch my thigh and can sense my skin, but when I press down there is simply numbness. Like someone shot me up with Novacain. I don't take the drugs they prescribe for me. The drugs just make me feel ill. I've always tried to accept whatever life throws at me. I tell myself that everything happens for a reason. Fighting against things I cannot change seems pointless to me. A waste of time. And I know there are others far worse off than I am. Tilting at windmills is not my forte. What is … is. So, I live with the pain. In a perverse way, I think it's better to feel something (even pain) rather than feel nothing.

So, Gentle Reader, bearing that in mind, I looked up at the man standing before me and smiled. Then, I believe I said, "Excuse me, but where did you come from? "

Maybe it was the smile or maybe the quiet, calm simplicity with which I asked my question. I don't know, but it seemed to reassure him. He offered me his hand and I accepted it. He helped me to my feet. We stood there looking indirectly at one another for what seemed an eternity. He would not or could not look me in the eyes. And still, he remained silent. So I once again asked him where he came from. This time I briefly caught his eyes and smiled at him as I asked my question.

Later, he told me it was my smile and the calm that helped him complete his crossing of worlds. He did not return my smile, but seemed to notice the tears on his face and wiped them away with the back of his hand.

In a rough, low, hauntingly musical voice and accented English he said, "Madame, but a moment ago I was in my home. As for where I am now, I truly have no idea how I came here or even where here is."

"Fair enough. Well, I would like to introduce myself to you, sir. I am Christine."

At the sound of my name, he winced, but said nothing.

So, I continued. "You are in my home now. I live in the United States, in the State of California, near the city of Los Angeles." I rambled on, as is my habit when I'm nervous. "Some people call it the City of Lost Angels. I have given you my name. May I have your name, sir?"

At last, he seemed to be hearing me as I noticed that he looked surprised, but he responded in an even voice. "My name is Erik, Madame. No one has asked for my name in a very long time. My home is in Paris, France. Yet, somehow, looking about this room, I do not believe that geography is the only thing that separates our homes. I do not recognize many of the things in this room. Nor, have I ever seen you before. Yet, this I do know." He gestured towards the music box.

We stood there once more like two awkward teenagers. Finally, my leg decided it was time for me to either sit or fall, so I chose the former rather than the latter. I sat back down on the couch and invited my unexpected guest to sit with me. Perhaps it was my invitation, perhaps not, but he suddenly seemed to become aware that his face was unmasked and he placed his hand to cover his disfigurement.

Uncertain of the proper thing to say (God knows I open mouth and insert foot on a regular basis. I like to make fun of myself by saying that I am socially retarded.) Even after desperately racking my brain, I still did not know what to say, so I just said the first thing that came to mind.

"Really, sir, do you need not hold your hand to your face, I assure you, please be at ease. Your concern for my sensibilities is appreciated, but completely unnecessary. Truly. I believe this poem applies to you:

_**All that is gold does not glitter.**  
__**Not all those who wander are lost.**  
__**The old that is strong does not wither.**  
__**Deep roots are not reached by the frost.**  
__**From the ashes a fire shall be woken.**  
__**A light from the shadows shall spring.**  
__**Renewed shall be blade that was broken.**  
__**The crownless again shall be king.**_

**_J.R.R. Tolkien_**

I'm not certain why, but well, you know or maybe you don't. I'm sorry I'm babbling again. You have me very flustered. I mean that only in the most complimentary way, of course, sir.

Now, where was I? Oh yes! As my guest, you must respect my wishes. For is that not the way? Well, it is my wish for you to be comfortable. In order for you to be comfortable you must sit with me and not cover your face with your hand. Please, sit with me. We must discuss how you came to be sitting on the floor of my den. Please! You a guest in my home. Be comforted. You are welcomed. Sit and let us discover if you are real or just a flight of fancy cooked up by my loneliness."

I pat the couch next to me indicating where I would like him to sit.

"Madame, perhaps we must determine whose loneliness created who." He replied with a slight cock of his head and very small upward curl of his lips.

"Fair enough." I say, again waving my hand at the couch for him to sit and give him a wry grin in return.

He was … is … amazing. He stands a couple of inches over six feet, well built, not heavy or thin, his hands are wide and strong, his fingers are those of an artist or pianist … long and thick, his gently waving hair is the color of dark honey and long and thick, but it is his face about which I must write now. His eyes seem mercurial to me, one moment blue-green, the next gray and the next black; a broad forehead; a beautifully straight masculine nose with a tip that dips down; his lips are dark red, full and sensuous; and his chin is strong with a small cleft chiseled in the center. Adonis … David … in my eyes they are nothing when compared to Erik.

I attempted to write about his face before. The only reason for this discussion is you, Gentle Reader. I hear you clamoring, what does he look like? The paragraph, which precedes this one, describes how I see Erik. I have difficulty seeing the deformity with which he was born.

He was born with a disfigured face. Well, I suppose. In truth, it is difficult for me to see. I feel the beauty of his spirit and the flesh blurs. I have known handsome, physically perfect men that I saw as grotesque gargoyles for their lacking of purity of their spirits. With Erik, the light of his mind and the fire of his soul blind me to all else. Besides is youth everlasting? No. Is a kind and gentle heart everlasting? Yes.

So, after one more moment's hesitation, he takes a seat on the couch at the end farthest from me. I pull my legs up onto the couch, tuck them under me and turn towards him.

"So, now what?"

My question seemed to surprise him as if he thought I already knew what to do. He seemed to consider for a moment and while he was thinking he actually looked at me for the first time. He seemed to absorb every fact about me. I could see him making a mental inventory: hair – long, straight, dark auburn; eyes – green-hazel with a circle of golden brown around the pupils; skin – the color of light golden brown sugar; nose – an upturned little button; high cheek bones; slightly sunken cheeks; full bottom lip; thin upper lip; mouth that was smiling its normal crooked smile at him; long neck; lean strong arms; a short, but well-proportioned body and finally, my best feature – my legs. My mother used to say I have Betty Grable legs and she still would say that if she were alive. I would normally feel completely unnerved having someone checking me out so blatantly, but with Erik it was different. His gaze did not judge, he was simply absorbing information. His study of me interrupted by a burst of volume from the television as the movie credits ended and the DVD returned to the Main Menu. He turned his attention to the television, considered the images playing there and then turned to me.

"How is it that you have these moving photographs of me? And of …" his voice trails off.

My mind raced. Is this truly Erik, the Phantom of the Opera? It certainly looked like him. He seemed to have slid from the screen and landed on the floor of my den. One thing at a time.

"How can I explain this when I don't understand it myself? No. I apologize. I can explain your question. What I do not have is an explanation as to how you came to be here. But I can explain about those. That box is a television. It is a machine used for information and for entertainment. Instead of reading a newspaper, we can use this to watch and listen to people read it to us. Or, instead of reading a story in a book or going to a theater to see a play, we can watch something we call a movie. Now, the reason there are pictures of you there is that I was watching a movie and you were a character in the movie. And then, suddenly, you weren't a character anymore. You were here in my home. I cannot explain how this happened. As far as I am aware, this has never happened before. From my point of view you existed only because an actor was performing a fictional part. And that part was the result of a novel written in the early part of the Twentieth Century. Would you care to see the movie? If I don't turn off the player, the movie begins automatically after a short interval. See? There it goes …"

I bite my lip in confusion. "I think you are a fictional character that has somehow crossed over into my world. However, I do not know what to believe other than you are decidedly here."

The opening credits rolled. The movie began. We sat on the couch in silence. He sat intensely watching the television and I sat watching him watching the television. He stirred several times during the movie, but said nothing. He watched the entire film and as the end credits ran, turned suddenly to me.

"Do you believe this?"

"Well, no. Until you appeared, I would have said that it's only a movie. But, now I don't know what to think."

"No. Do you believe I am a murderer?" His eyes stared into mine with an intensity that I felt through my entire being and made my heart flutter.

"No, I don't believe you are or I wouldn't be sitting here with you." I answered him without hesitation and as usual, my heart spoke for me.

His eyes dropped from mine and he looked at his hands silently. "How can you believe otherwise after seeing this?" He gestured toward the television.

"I don't know. My heart tells me you aren't a murderer. That you couldn't be a murderer. It is not your nature."

He seemed shocked by my answer. His mouth worked for a moment trying to form the words his mind wanted to say, but he had lost the ability to form them. He turned away from me and leaned forward with his elbows resting on his thighs. He dropped his head into his hands. I moved next to him and placed my hand on his shoulder. In that one light touch, I sensed more passion lay within this man than anyone I had ever known. I felt his passion was … for me!

His body trembled and then tensed at my touch. Suddenly, he propelled himself from the couch and leaped across the room stopping at the door. Unfortunately for me, I had shifted my weight and his sudden flight left me leaning on thin air. I followed Erik off the couch (just not as gracefully) as I toppled face first to the floor. Luckily, it is a short fall from the couch to the carpeted floor, so my landing (while undignified) left me unscathed. I rolled over onto my side and pushed myself to a sitting position, shook my head, blinked, looked around the room and then, I began to laugh.

"What! What on earth? What's wrong?" He was at my side in less than the blink of an eye. I gasped at his quickness.

He swiftly knelt down, offered me his arm and helped me back onto the couch.

"Why are you laughing? What is it that you find so amusing?"

His eyes seemed shrunken to two blackened pits, which burned deep into my soul.

"Well, I am, of course! My mother always said Grace is not my middle name! I try to comfort you and end up flat on my face. I was just imagining how silly I must have looked."

He looked perplexed, but something in his face softened and I felt him drop his guard just a little.

"You are the strangest woman … nothing about you is what I expect. Why aren't you afraid of me? My face alone is usually reason enough, but you don't fear me even after seeing this … movie! Why?"

I could see that he desperately needed to hear the truth.

I calmly shrugged my shoulders and told him the truth.

"I just know. My heart knows. I feel you in my heart and it knows. And, my little voice tells me you are a good man. I've learned to listen to that little voice. It has never been wrong. I trust it. It never lies. Usually it speaks to me no louder than a whisper, but when it spoke to me of you, the voice spoke loud and clear. You are not a danger to me or to my daughter who lies asleep in her room. I might risk myself, but I would never risk her. You, sir, are a good man. Regardless of what the plot of that movie says. That character may have been you in the world of that movie, but here in this world you are not that. I see no reason to believe evil of you nor have you provided any evidence otherwise. Just accept it, sir. This is what I believe."

I gave a little shrug.

I looked once more into his eyes and saw that they had become the lovely blue-green color once more. I smiled at him as he knelt before me. I looked down at his marvelous hands. I just had to touch them, so I reached out and took them into mine. I held them before me, first looking at the backs of both hands and then I turned them both palms up. I will never know why I did what I did next, but I did it. I raised his palms to my lips and kissed first one and then the other.

My lips savored the sensual feel of his skin as they planted their kisses. His palms were wonderfully soft and warm. Suddenly, I was aware that something has changed. The voice told me that I was in trouble. Yet it was not my life that was in danger, but my heart. After the death of my husband, I had thought no man would ever be able to make me feel again. Nor had I wanted to feel again.

I lowered his hands from my lips and looked at the man kneeling before me. I knew what I wanted and briefly wondered if my present course was wise. Probably not. The heart wants what the heart wants. With another slight shrug, I just do it. I leaned forward and kissed him. Not just a dry spinster peck, I kiss Erik with a kiss on his mouth the passion of which surprises even me. As I kissed him, my hand caressed his face. I break off the kiss as I realize my other hand was sinking to his lap to caress him there.

As I withdrew my mouth from his, I backed away with my eyes still closed. My mind in an immediate state of panic. Thinking to myself, am I nuts? Probably. He was kissing the love of his life not three hours ago and here I am kissing a man from 1871 whom I don't know at all. (Liar! The voice within says.) Shut up! I tell the voice, no, it's too soon. He can't. He wouldn't want me. A cripple. Christine Daae had just rejected him. She's so young. And not to mention, beautiful. He must love her still. I can mean nothing to him. What am I doing? I've probably offended his sensibilities. He's thinking that I'm crazy, but too polite to say anything. And what about me? Haven't I been hurt enough? No. I need to come on to some poor guy I just met and make him have to … reject me. (But you desire him, the voice says.) Yes, I do. I reply, now, shut up!

I opened my eyes and find he has not moved. His face was close enough to mine that I could feel his breath hot and quick upon my cheek. His eyes searched mine. I felt the color rising in my cheeks. I haven't blushed in years and here this man I have just met made me blush. Again, not mentioning my feeling almost faint with need. How was this possible?

"I must be dreaming." I whispered.

"Then, please do not awaken." He replied his voice was hoarse with emotion. "I wish to forever remain in this dream with you."

Before I could stop myself, I leaned forward and kissed him again. This time he met my kiss with one of his own. Our lips parted as our kiss deepened. We tentatively began to explore the depths of one another mouths with our tongues. I catch his tongue with my mouth and gently suckle it. Erik makes an involuntary and incoherent cry of passion. His cry further incites me. Our kiss becomes a mad plunging of tongues. We moan. I rain kisses upon his entire face. His rough kisses nip along my neck. Our hands stroke one another in furious abandon. I have kissed passionately before, but all those other kisses paled in comparison to Erik's kiss. Our kisses become more frenetic. The exploration by our hands frenzied. Erik's hands push me back and our bodies begin their descent into the couch's pillows. As I sink into the pillows, Erik, who had been kneeling before me, slipped forward, his body coming to rest between my legs. His body an inferno of need. Mine a firestorm of desire. Our minds agitated beyond thought. Unable stop, Erik began driving his swollen excitement against the center of my being. My breathing is ragged with the passion of our kisses. I, not wishing to stop, am soon matching his force with thrusts of my own. We give ourselves over to the wild power flowing through both of our bodies. Self-restraint, self-control simply words we have forgotten. Words without meaning. There is nothing else in the universe, but the two of us. He fully clothed and I in my nightgown. We make love for the first time, well, sort of. And then it happens. The moment of frozen time. We enter it together. Our mouths part and our eyes open. Our eyes lock onto one another as it happens. Time resumes and the waves of release hit us again and again and again. At long last the spasms fade and we are left laying half on and half off the couch holding one another. Trembling with spent passion and amazement. I whimpered from the shock of bliss here-to-for unknown. The touch of our hands upon one another slow and become gentle caresses. Our lips meet in a quiet kiss.

It is then that the voice chooses to speak. It whispered a quiet revelation, which hit me like a bolt out of the blue. The shock of it coursed through my body like an errant bolt of lightning. Erik felt the shock run through my body and immediately mistook its meaning. He immediately flung himself as far away from me as he could. His hand returned to the right side of his face and he turned that side away from me. I could feel his self-revulsion and self-hatred.

"No!" I cried.

I, on the other hand, had been (up to that moment) ecstatic both from the afterglow of our passion and by the confirmation contained in the words of the voice. The voice had told me Erik was innocent and why. It was so simple.

I gently placed my hand on his shoulder. A shock of electricity flowed between the two of us. The shock, instead of throwing us apart, bound me more closely to him.

"Erik." I breathed his name in and my mouth exhaled it as a lover's moan of ecstasy.

I began quietly, although I wished to shout my news from the rooftops. Erik is very feline in his movements. He has the same innate sense of grace and balance as a cat. He can move so quickly it is difficult to follow him.

As I spoke his name, he wheeled about to face me. I looked directly into the eyes of this damaged man and hated the cruel fates that had brought about this self-loathing. His hand still covered half his face, but he had reined in his emotions and regained his self-control. His eyes were wary, but I saw a small flame flicker there. Within that flame there kindled hope.

I was ignorant of the cause of his hope, but I took comfort in the fact I had seen it. My experience of him gave me no insight as to the cause of his hope. Later he told me that it was my utterance of a single word and the way I had voiced it that brought him hope. The word was, Erik. This was the first time I had spoken his name aloud. He told me that my declaration of his name was the first time anyone (other than vague memories he had of his mother) had used his name gently and with love. I had called out to him and used his name. In my voice he had heard tones of loving concern for him. In my voice he heard no terror, no hatred and no lie. My next words held his future and he waited for me to pronounce it, so I did.

"You are no murderer, Erik. You are innocent. The movie lies. The character portrayed in the movie we just watched is not you. You are the foundation, but it is not you. The entire story told from the point of view of Raoul de Chagny. That movie is the Vicomte's version of the events at the opera house. The voice just told me. It was the voice that shocked me, not you, Erik. Never you. The voice told me the story of Monsieur le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny is a fabrication of his own twisted mind and contains not a word of truth! I told you my heart knew."

I felt doubly released. The man I desired was not a criminal and that same man had only moments before brought me to one of the most powerful climaxes of my life thus far.

He looked deeply into my eyes and saw my transcendent joy. A sense of wonder crossed his face.

"What is it?" I asked him.

He touched my hand, which still tightly gripped his shoulder.

"You really don't know, do you?"

"No, I don't. Have I done something that offends you? I apologize if I have. I always try to say what's on my mind and I'm no good at playing mind games. I always say what I feel and that sometimes gets me into trouble. What you see is what you get. Sometimes that can be a good thing … and at other times, not so good." I laughed. "This is most definitely a good time. I just knew I was right about you."

He placed his hand under my chin and lifted my face to look into my eyes. I felt electrified by his touch and the center of my being throbbed its response to him.

Our eyes met and then, I was falling and my world spun away into blackness.

A clap of deafening thunder.


	3. The Phantoms's Lair

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

Chapter Three – The Phantom's Lair**

I gasp and instinctively grab his shoulder tighter to steady myself. I blink and shake my head.

"What on earth just happened?"

I look at Erik who was very still and silent. I follow his gaze and see that my den is gone and we are now somewhere else.

Erik rose to his feet and stared about him. I look about me and realize where we are.

"So, this is your home." I say simply.

It is almost just as portrayed in the movie but with several important differences. There are no drawings of Christine Daae anywhere. The alcove, which in the movie was occupied by the Christine mannequin, is occupied by a large bookcase, a lamp and a small chair.

He walked to his desk and picked up something small and white. I walk closer and see he held one of his masks. He turned to me and an unspoken question was asked and answered. A small grateful sigh escaped his lips as he returned the mask to the desk.

The two of us had only short moments ago, pleasured one another in a way that was beyond even the most secret of our imaginings. We stood together in his home and felt as awkward as two teenagers. Neither one of us wished to spoil the memory of our shared passion by speaking of it. Both of us too frightened that the other regretted the moments we later discovered we treasured. Both of us standing there, acting as if nothing had happened between us. Both of us standing there, wanting nothing more than to begin the act all over again. We stood there afire with need and played the parts of polite strangers.

"Do you care for me to show you my home?"

I felt there was some sort of subtext to his question, a subtlety that escaped me, but I was too happy to care and had no desire to puzzle it out. Now, while I write those words, I see that he was asking me if I cared for him. (I do.)

"Of course. Lead the way, Monsieur."

Erik's "rooms" consisted of his main living room where he designed, drew, painted, wrote and composed; the small library alcove; and several steps which led up to the cavern he used as his bedroom. The bed was beautiful. Fashioned in the form of a swan (perhaps, he knew the story of the ugly duckling) maybe a prop from some forgotten opera, I thought. There were lit candles and mirrors everywhere. I watched as Erik walked to a small table in his bedroom and somehow the music box was sitting there, not back on the floor of my den. He wound the music box and then placed it down on the table.

The music box played sweetly and I began to sing, "Masquerade! Paper faces on parade. Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you."

I stopped abruptly as I noticed the look of shock on Erik's face. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing. I had forgotten about the movie. Hearing you sing that surprised me. So, you can sing …."

His words were not a question, but a statement of fact and I shrugged agreement. After all, who am I to argue with the Phantom of the Opera? Finding a safe topic and one I happened to love (but about which I feel completely insecure,) I proceeded to dive into it with all of my usual self-deprecating humor and enthusiasm.

"Yes, I love music and I love to sing. Unfortunately, I'm not a soprano. Nope! No glamour bits for me. The sopranos have all of the juiciest roles. I don't believe anyone has ever written an opera where the lead female role is anything other than a soprano. Anyway, the choir director assigned me to the alto section. And there I remained. I used to drive the choir director crazy. I would try out for any and all roles up for grabs, but I was shy so I never hit the notes properly when I would audition. Never got any solos, but that's okay. I'm good, but not great, I guess. Anyway, the choir let me use my voice so it served its purpose. I'm not really sure why, but my mom found me a vocal coach. Those were the best six years, but as with all of my other hobbies in which I expressed an interest, as soon as I expressed the desire to make it a career, the lessons vanished. It was the same with my piano lessons. So I turned to rock and roll instead of opera. That was the one thing my parents couldn't take away from me."

"Rock and roll?"

"A form of modern popular music that is considerably louder and faster than any orchestra. A basic rock band consists of a lead guitar, rhythm guitar, bass guitar and drums. Other instruments can be added such as piano, but three guitars, a drum kit and at least one vocalist are the necessary parts of a rock band."

I walk to his organ and sit. I begin to sing and play "Stairway to Heaven" and then slide into "Long Tall Sally."

"Of course, this isn't exactly the right instrument for this, but I think you get the idea. We even have rock operas."

"It seems there is no end to how different your world is from mine."

"Well, as with all things, my world has both good and bad. Music is truly a good thing. I've always loved music. I have a pneumonic memory and music is the soundtrack of my life. If I hear something, I remember it. That worked very well for me up until I was 10 years old. Then I lost it. My hearing that is. A stupid accident. The worst part of it is the constant ringing in my ears. I miss silence. It's never quiet in my head! But, I've learned to lip read fairly well. I read lips and can hear my voice speaking those words in my head. In this way I can still use my gift of remembering what I hear. Where there's a will, there's a way, huh?"

I limp to the edge of the lake and carefully sit on the edge. I reach to touch the water and find it warm.

"Is this clean? I mean, it doesn't smell bad, but …."

He smiles. "Well, I don't drink from it, but it is clean enough to use for washing."

"Really? Oh, I love water!" I stand and without a second thought, pull my nightgown over my head, toss it onto a nearby chair and dive naked into the lake. The water is warm at the surface, but quickly cools the deeper I swim. So, I kick to the surface and find to my surprise that Erik is standing at the edge of the lake looking rather anxiously into the water.

"What's wrong? Oh, don't worry. I swim like a fish!"

"You were down there a long time."

"Not really." I roll over onto my back and float easily in the dark water. It felt so good, I wanted to purr. "Oh … I'm sorry, do you swim?"

"No. I bathe."

I laugh. "Come in, I'll teach you. I'm actually a very good teacher."

"I don't think … well, you … Madame, you're naked!"

"Oh, well, yeah. I didn't want to get my one piece of clothing soaked, so the best option seemed to be sans dress, n'est-ce pas?" I wink. "I guess I'm not a proper lady for your time, am I?"

"No, but most don't believe I'm a proper man either."

I almost make a reply to that, but decide to leave that remark alone for now.

I swim to the lake's edge and carefully walk to the edge where Erik is standing. "I love the water. It is the one place where I don't feel like a cripple."

I stand before him naked and dripping. We look into one another's eyes and I'm suddenly surprised to find that in an instant, Erik has scooped me up into his arms and is carrying me to his bedroom. He moves so quickly, it takes my breath away. He sets me down in the middle of the room.

"Please don't use that word again. You are so much more than that. I'll get you a towel." He walks to a wardrobe, opens the doors and after a moment produces a large maroon-colored towel. He returns to me, shakes the towel open and places it around my body.

I look up into his face and say, "Erik, the same can be said of you."

I feel the heat of color once more rise to my cheeks in response to the intensity of his gaze. "I can walk naked in front of you, but if you look into my eyes, I blush. This I do not understand." I sigh and plop myself down on his bed. "You wouldn't happen to have a cane or a walking stick would you?"

"No, but I'm sure I can find one in the theater or perhaps, Madame Giry could purchase one for me."

"Oh! She's real? I would like to meet her."

"As real as I am. Why?"

"Well, she saved you from the Gypsy, didn't she? You didn't kill him. He almost beat you to death and she saw. She hid and waited until he had gone then she broke you free of your cage and brought you here. That's what happened, isn't it? I can see it in my mind." I give my head a small shake. "That was strange."

"What?"

"I don't normally see things."

"Well, I believe that much of what we've experienced recently falls under that heading."

"True, very true. Could you bring my gown here? Or do you have something I can wear out into your world?

"Sorry, nothing here, but I'm certain the theater will have everything we need to clothe you properly."

"Erik …."

"Yes."

I begin again. "Erik …."

I can't speak. My mouth has gone dry. If my walking before him in the nude hadn't caused him to make wild love with me. I don't know what will. Perhaps, my 21st century mores shock him, but it had been such a long time. Our early grinding against one another had fanned the flames of my passion for him. I didn't want to wait. I couldn't wait! To hell with everything else, I just wanted him, but I didn't know what to do or say. For once in my life, I just wanted. I wanted him. After all, I'd been thinking about making love with him for months. Every time I watched the movie, I would imagine his hands on me. And, then there were the dreams of him holding me in his arms. I shook my head to clear it.

My eyes must have said the words that my mouth could not form because he knelt down on the floor next to the bed, took my face into his hands and kissed me hard. I returned that kiss and more.

I will not write of how we spent the remainder of the night. Those memories are Erik's and mine alone and not for your eyes, Gentle Reader. Suffice it to say my dear Erik knows love and I discovered that I had never truly known it until that night.

Afterwards, we slept. Our limbs entwined and bodies still joined. I can't remember the last time I slept so deeply or was so happy.

And, then I awoke. Alone.


	4. Home Again, Alone Again!

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

Chapter Four – Home Again, Alone Again**

As I regain my awareness of the world, I find I am alone. I open my eyes and find the familiar walls of my den surrounding me and I'm lying on my couch.

"Just a dream." I murmur aloud.

With a sigh, I raise the blanket and begin to sit up when I notice the perfume of lovemaking, which surrounds me. At almost the same instant, I see something else that proves Erik was no dream. Sitting on the floor in front of the television is the music box. I grab my cane from its normal place next to the couch and pull myself up. I smile as further evidence of Erik trickles down my thigh. I use a tissue and then catch sight of my nightgown lying on the floor next to the music box. I carefully lower myself down to the floor and quickly pull the gown on. It wouldn't do for Trystin to find me this way. Next, I turn my attention to the music box. I wonder, is this the key for me to find Erik again? And, if it is, how can I be certain I'll find my way back to my daughter again?

As if on cue, I hear, "Mom! Mom! Where are you?"

"I'm in the den!" I call back to her. And so begins another day of life. Of showering, cooking, cleaning, shopping and playing with my little dolly girl. I try not to think about the night before. I try not to worry about Erik. I try, but I think and worry all the same. And my biggest fear is what if I never see Erik again? The day passes and life continues.

And then it is evening and Trystin's bedtime. Instead of a movie, we read "The Secret Garden." Each of us taking turns reading a page. She falls asleep at last. I tuck her into her bed, kiss her forehead and turn on her nightlight. I walk from her room and as always leave the door an inch ajar.

I walk down the hall, through the living room and into the kitchen. I clean up the remains of supper, wash the dishes, sweep the floor and realize I'm avoiding going into the den. Not just now, but all day. I finish sweeping the floor and force myself to the doorway of the room. What if I can't find him again?


	5. The Phantom’s Lair, Revisité

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One****

* * *

Chapter Five – The Phantom's Lair – Revisité**

The room is dark, but I know it so well I can easily find my way in the gloom. I walk slowly using my cane just in case Trystin has been here during the day and left a toy on the floor for me to trip over. I stop. The room seems darker than usual and I fancy that I hear the sound of dripping water. The air smells different. So, having the nasty habit of being a smoker, I reach into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out my lighter. I flip open the lid and roll the wheel. It lights. I hold the small flame before me and gasp. Was it that simple? Could I really have crossed over that easily?

Yes, I am in Erik's home, but everything is dark. No candles are lit and all is deathly quiet except for the occasional distant sound of water dripping. I close my eyes and try to sense him, but I feel nothing. He is not here. I am alone. I move to one of the many candelabras, light its candles then move on to the next one, and do the same. I make my way to his bedroom. Empty. I see the maroon towel where I had dropped it the night before. I bend and pick it up. It's still damp, so I was here just last night. But where is Erik?

I toss the towel over the back of the room's one armchair and hobble to the bed.

"Erik?" I call gently and hesitantly into the unearthly stillness of the room. "Erik?"

No reply. Not that I expected one. I can feel the emptiness all around me. It matches the hollow feeling in my heart. I sit on his bed and then lie down drinking in the fading scents of our previous night's lovemaking. I draw the sheets about me and find (much to my surprise) that I'm crying. Another love gone. One night wasn't enough, but it seems that is all I will have.

* * *


	6. A Walk in the Night

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

Chapter Six – A Walk in the Night**

I lay in Erik's bed and surrendered myself to complete and utter self-pity. Then, I wiped my foolish tears, got up and went to Erik's desk. I found paper, quill and ink and began to put these thoughts onto paper. And now, I have brought you to where I currently exist. I've been writing now for the last four hours and I think it's time to either go up to Paris or try to find my way home. No. I won't go home. Not yet. I can't give up this easily. At the very least I have to try. I have until dawn to try to find Erik and then I must attempt to return to my home. I cannot abandon Trystin. As much as I want Erik, I need my daughter more. I tell myself that Erik is here somewhere and I'm going to try and find him. Perhaps, Madame Giry can help me. My clothing is not suitable for 19th century Paris, so I begin to look for a cloak to cover my clothes. Erik's clothes are too long, but I find a short tapestry covering a mirror that is about the right size. I pull it down and wrap it about my shoulders. I find a broach to use as a clasp. I gaze into the mirror and see a sad, frightened woman clutching a cane and a candle. I straighten my back, clear my throat and begin to make my way out of Erik's home. I find a passageway that seems to lead upwards behind one of the mirrors in Erik's bedroom and decide to try that way. The path twists ever up and soon my leg is aching, but I can't turn back. I need to know why Erik was brought to me and why I, in turn, had been brought here. I lean against the wall to rest for a few minutes and find myself thinking of the music from the movie. I feel so lonely. I start to sing "No One Would Listen." Quietly at first and then with growing certainty I sing. It is the music that will help me, will help us. As I finish the last line, I hear the sound of approaching footsteps. I quickly blow out my candle and wait in the darkness with my back pressed hard against the wall. The sounds become louder and I see a dim light ahead of me.

Too late I realize my foolhardiness. The catacombs of Paris in 1870 are probably a dangerous place for anyone much less a lame woman. At least I can use my cane as a defense against anything, but a gun. I change my grip on my cane and wait. The steadily approaching light provides its bearer clear sight of the path ahead and it offers me the sight of its bearer.

* * *


	7. Reunited

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

Chapter Seven – Reunited**

"Thank God!" I breathe.

"Erik!" I call softly not wishing to startle him.

He freezes mid-stride.

"Christine!" He shouts and holds his candle high.

I relight my candle and hurry to him.

"Erik! Oh my God! I found you! Where have you been? I've been waiting for you in your home for the last four hours. I was so frightened that you had thought me a dream and left for good. Oh, how I've missed you."

"Christine … why did you go?"

Now, I am the one who freezes.

"What?" I stammer.

"I believe you heard me before, Madame. Why did you leave?" His voice sounded cold, so very cold.

"Monsieur, I did not leave your bed willingly. I awoke this morning to find myself alone on my couch in the room where we first met. I passed the day being a mother and as soon as my child went to sleep, I came to find you. I awoke alone. Erik, I was alone! I doubted my sanity until my body offered evidence of our lovemaking. I have no idea why and it seems I have no control over where I find myself. Please know this: I did not leave you or your embrace willingly."

"Christine!" He whispers and careful of the candles, he embraces me tightly. I notice he is once again wearing his white half-mask. I return his embrace frightened at my roiling emotions.

"Erik." I murmur into his chest.

Then words form in my mind. Words I cannot yet speak to him. Words, I dare not speak for fear of seeming foolish, over-eager or desperate.

"_I love you. Tell me you love me."_

His embrace grows tighter as if he can hear my thoughts, but he says nothing.

"What are we to do? I do not wish to continue this way. I need to know how you feel."

He pushes me away and I feel his eyes burning into me. I cannot bring myself to meet his gaze and I feel the crimson flush suffuse my cheeks.

"How do I feel?" His words reach my ears as a low growl.

The words hang in the air between us.

"_Oh no! You spoke too soon, Christine! Stupid, girl!"_

"How do I feel?" He repeats.

"Yes." My voice sounds dull and lifeless to my own ears and I hold my breath as I await his response.

He says nothing, but suddenly lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me with a passion, which shocks and thrills me.

"That is how I feel." He growls into my ear.

"We must find a way to be together. Either in this world or mine. I have only one request of you. My child must be with us also. You will love her. And, I know something you don't. She, my dearest one, loves you too. She thinks you are so handsome. She asks to watch the movie all the time and she's told me that she thinks the character Christine is crazy for wanting Raoul and not you."

In a wondering voice, which is deep with emotion, he says, "Me. I will have a family of my own. This is truly a dream come true. Come let's go." And he turns to go back up the passageway.

I clutch at his sleeve. "Wait. I need you to walk slowly. My leg is on fire, but I'll be okay if we walk slowly."

"I had forgotten. My apologies, mon chére cœur. Here let me help you." He laughs and catches me up in his arms.

"Where are we going?" His laughter is contagious.

"We are going to visit an old friend. In fact, I was just there and told her of you. I'm afraid she did not believe me, but now she must believe. She will know what to do. Or she will know someone who will know." He rocks me in his arms and laughs once again. "Je suis ai aimé!" He raises me to him and we kiss.

"You had better not start that or we will end up where we were last night." I tease him.

"I cannot think of a better place, but our lovemaking must wait until we can love one another without worrying that one of us will disappear."

"Wait! Just one more moment." He pauses and I clumsily fold my cane to make travel through the narrow corridors easier.

"So, I am not the only magician present." He chuckles.

"No … no magic. I'll show you how it works later. All right?"

"Agreed. We will have much to tell each other when this is finished."

* * *


	8. Madame Cecile

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

Chapter Eight – Madame Cecile**

And with a speed that surprises me (after all he is carrying me) we retrace his route back up to the lower levels of the theater. At last I can see signs of recent human activity. Here and there a wall sconce is lit, a piece of stage scenery is propped against the wall and we pass a few wine bottles discarded in dark corners.

In the middle of a long straight corridor there is a single lit sconce next to a closed door. Erik slowly lowers me to the floor and I stand wobbling for a moment until I shake my cane back into its useful form.

"I like that."

I chuckle. "Just goes to show you're nothing but a very big little boy." I grin at him naughtily.

"You, my dear, bring that out in me." He takes my free hand and presses it briefly to his lips.

I return his courtesy with a clumsy curtsy.

We had been speaking in voices barely louder than a whisper, but it must have been loud enough for the door in front of us suddenly swung swiftly open. The woman standing in the doorway gasped at the sight of Erik and me. Him kissing my hand and I performing my curtsy.

"Erik!" She hisses. "Come in! Come in."

She moves aside to allow us entry. Erik kisses my hand once more then takes my hand in his and leads me into the room. After the cold dampness of the catacombs, her room appears as a haven of coziness.

She closes the door behind us and swirls around to face us. Her face is a mask of unreadable emotions. I look to Erik (after all he knows her, I don't.) He simply continues to look at her and there is something in the quiet that tells me to reach out and listen.

At first, their voices are so quiet I can barely hear, but I use my connection with Erik to help me tune into their wordless conversation.

"… You promised me, Erik. No more hypnosis!"

"But Madame …"

"I will not listen to this insanity of her being from another time. I tell you, I won't! She looks well-bred, Erik. Her family will be looking for her. She's not a toy or a stray animal you can take home with you if you find it in the street. Let her go now before you loose your grip on her mind or there will be more trouble than either us of can imagine …"

I decide that enough is enough. She definitely didn't believe a word he had told her, but then would any sane person? I need to remember to ask Erik about his other strays.

I take a deep breath, focus on their voices and enter.

"Hello, Madame. Please pardon my intrusion. My name is Christine. In regards to my being with Erik, he has not broken any promise to you. I am here with Erik of my own free will. We have come to ask for your help."

At the first sound of my voice in her head, her hand flies to her chest and she turns her wide eyes to me.

After a moment, she speaks aloud. "Well, we might as well use the voice God gave us. The quiet talk is difficult for me. Erik taught me long ago. So he taught you as well?" Her eyes flash with annoyance.

I simply shake my head and say, "No. I've been able to hear this way for as long as I can remember. I just never tried to speak with anyone before. Never found anyone else who was listening or I might have tried." I turn to Erik and find him staring at me as if for the first time. "I didn't know you could. I tried to find you by listening when I first arrived here tonight, but I couldn't feel you anywhere." I squeeze his hand. He looks into my eyes and must have seen my fear. A fear he would recognize and understand. The fear of being rejected for being different.

He smiles gently returning my gaze and I hear in my mind, "You are even dearer to me than ever. Fear not, mon chére cœur. I love you still. I love you always."

"And I you." I respond aloud. "I believe an introduction is required here, my dear." And I nod in the direction of the woman whom I believe to be Madame Giry.

"I can guess, but it's always nice to be certain. Don't you think?"

"Pardon moi, ma Cherie. Madame Giry, may I present Christine Maire. Christine, I would like to present my dearest friend, confidant and savior, Madame Cecile Giry."

We nod at one another. I find that the smile I direct at her is completely genuine and I feel quite at ease in her presence. She performs a perfunctory inspection of my person and I seem to pass muster.

She gestures to the cane. "Is that for show or necessity?"

"Unfortunately, necessity."

"That is unfortunate." She agrees. She turns to Erik. "So, you have convinced me she is here under her own will. Now, as to the future. I am still unconvinced, but I will entertain the idea for the time being. What is it that you wish of me?"

She gestures for the two of us to sit on a small settee and we do with our hands still entwined.

"Erik, you can let go of her. She won't disappear."

Erik and I give each other a quick glance and hold onto each other's hand with renewed fierceness.

"What did I say?" She looks at Erik then to me and back to Erik.

"That's exactly what does happen." He tells her. And he tells her everything from the first moment he appeared in my den to us meeting again in the corridor. Of course, he left out the intimate details, but I felt she must have guessed. Looking at Erik tell our story, I thought that we were pretty much wearing our hearts on our sleeves. I shifted on the settee trying to stop the throbbing in my hip with no success. My attention wandered and I felt myself floating. It had been a long day and a longer night, I was tired. I leaned my head on Erik's shoulder. He unconsciously released my hand and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. The floating feeling returned. I felt warm and safe.

With a shake, I awoke. I looked up and could see Erik's frightened eyes through the comforting rough of his cloak. He grasped me tightly in his arms, but he didn't let go of me. I snuggled closer into his embrace, but he gave me a little shake.

"Christine, don't sleep yet, please! You started to fade away a moment ago."

I came fully awake in an instant. "What?" I push away from his embrace and give him my full attention.

"It is true, my dear. I saw it too. I could see right through you." She looks at me and then to Erik. "Just what do you think I can do about this?"

"How much did you tell her?"

"Everything, except, well, you know mon chére cœur."

I smile at him. There is something you don't know about. While I was waiting for you I wrote down everything. Do you understand? Everything. I wanted you to know I had been here and was real and looking for you. I left the papers tied with a black ribbon beneath the pillows of your bed."

"I will take care of them when we return there."

Madame Giry had been watching our exchange and paused to speak.

"So, you two have been … intimate?" She blushes and lowers her gaze.

Erik answers for us both. "Yes."

"And she accepts you without the mask? She has seen?"

I answer for myself this time. "Madame, when first we met, he was as God had intended. He is a man. I love the man not the mask."

Her gaze rises to meet mine and she considers me for a time. I meet her gaze and feel heat rising to my cheeks, but do not lower my gaze. She gives a small nod.

"I would not have believed it if I had not witnessed it with my own eyes, but I did. You two are a halved soul. The desperate loneliness and need you both feel has allowed the two of you to travel across time in search of one another. I know what you are, but I do not know how to help you."

"Do you know anyone who might be able to help us? I wish to spend the rest of my life with her." Erik pleads.

"And I wish to be with Erik. And my child."

"You have a child?"

"Yes, I am a widow. My husband died three years ago. My daughter is 7 years old."

"Madame, I know all this already, so be comforted. She has kept no secrets from me."

She nods and looks at her hands that are primly folded in her lap.

"The only ones that may know what to do are the gypsies, but their price will be high." She looks at me. "Erik had dealings with gypsies when he was young. They may not want to help him."

"I know what a gypsy did to Erik and what you did for Erik. Thank you."

She nods.

"I can speak with the matriarch on your behalf."

"When?" We both say in unison. Look at one another and laugh.

The Madame shakes her head and smiles. "I never thought to see you laugh so easily Erik. Or to see you in love and being loved in return. I am so happy for you both. I will leave at once!" She walks to the wall and chooses a dark brown cloak with a hood. She throws it around her, ties it and pulls up the hood. "Try to stay awake until I return. With luck, I should take no longer than two hours."

"You must hurry for I must return before my child awakens and finds me gone. I can stay no longer than three hours."

"I will do my best. You may wait here if you wish. Erik, you have the key if you wish to spend your time together elsewhere."

Erik and I look into each other's eyes and the fire threatens to overtake us until we hear Madame clear her throat. Erik turns to her. "Yes?"

"No sleeping and no staring at one another like that. You both started to fade that time!" She shakes her head. "Amazing! True love! I never thought to see that."

And with that last utterance she walks out the door.


	9. Waiting

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One 

* * *

Chapter Nine – Waiting**

Erik turns to me smiling. "True love?"

"Love? True Love? Most certainly." I agree.

"So, how do we spend the time without falling asleep, my dear heart?" And he tries to take me in his arms, but I pull away. His smile falters.

"Please don't. I need to do something first."

My hands reach for the mask and pause. "Will it hurt if I take it off?"

"A little. Why?"

"I much prefer you without it." I add. "If you don't mind. Kissing you with the mask is nice, but without it is so much better."

His smile returns and he shakes his head. "I'm not certain I will ever become accustomed to someone wanting to see my face, but your wish is my command."

He gently grasps the edge by his nose and peels the mask away. He then removes the black wig. He places them on a nearby table.

I smooth his hair and kiss his cheek.

"Erik, I told you I wrote about our meeting yesterday …"

"Yes, you did. Why?"

"And you remember the movie I showed you?"

"Of course. Why are you asking?"

"I write fiction, but I would like to write about you. After all, in my world you are a character in a novel, a musical and a motion picture. The idea has been rolling around in my mind since I realized why I knew you were innocent of the horrible things they accused you of in the movie. I would like to write a story which carries on after Raoul leaves the music box in the cemetery, but from your point of view."

"Interesting, but why?"

"I detest lies, but I find these lies about you intolerable. I would like to set matters right."

He leans back on the settee and gives me a bemused look.

"What possible difference will it make?"

"Well, since you are a fictional character in my world, none. And yet, lies feed chaos. And when chaos swells fat and bloated on the filth of lies, it belches forth entropy." I shudder. "Erik, there is nothing I fear more, so whenever I can I try to be kind when someone is cruel or shine the light of truth on a lie. I don't know if it will make any difference, besides the voice tells me it's the right thing to do."

"Well, then, I suppose you must." He sighs.

"Please feel free to correct me should I get any of it wrong. You will do that for me, won't you?"

"Correct you? You will tell my tale for me? But, you weren't there. How could you possibly know? I thought you would have me tell it to you."

"No, my dearest. I would never ask you to betray your promise to her. I would never ask you to choose between us. We are both Christine and we are yours. Your Christine in twos. Christine dans Deux."

He gasps.

"I told you I've always been able to hear things. Last night as we fell asleep, our minds touched and I heard you speak your promise to Christine. That promise could only mean one thing, so that thought led to another and then another."

Worry, guilt and horrible fear wash across his face. He opens his mouth, but I hush him by pressing my lips to his before the deluge of words break free.


	10. Through the Phantom's Eyes

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One 

* * *

Chapter Ten – Through the Phantom's Eyes**

"Damn!"

"Pardonnez-moi?"

"Oh, sorry 'bout that. I'm a creature of habit. When I write, I need four things: my laptop, quiet, Diet Pepsi and a pack of Djarum Specials. I'm fairly certain I won't find three of those things here in 1870." I clear my throat, stretch, close my eyes and coax my mind into seeing Erik's truth. "Okay, here goes, this is just, well, the basic facts of what really happened. I'll flesh it out later."

"The tale of the Angel of Music and Christine Daae began nine years ago when seven year old Christine Daae came to live in the ballet dormitories after the death of her father. In those days, you wandered the opera house pretty much whenever and wherever you pleased. One evening you see a little girl her praying in the opera house's chapel and her innocence called to you. Her loneliness formed a sad, strange harmony with your own. That is why you noticed her. The Angel of Music was born of your second meeting with the girl. The second time you saw her she was singing her prayers. Her voice was the first thing you had ever encountered in your life that was pure and beautiful. An untouched purity sent directly by the angels to this earth. It was her voice that saved you, Erik. It was also her voice that destroyed you. And yet, it was that second encounter saved your life. That is the day your heart began to heal.

"You begin training her voice while wearing the persona of the Angel of Music. For years she would confide in you her hopes, fears, dreams, and you would give her comfort by allowing her to believe you were the angel her father promised to send. She told you of the boy, Raoul. At first, he was her childhood playmate, then sweetheart. On learning of his impending death, her father attempted to arrange a place for his daughter with the Comte de Chagny. His efforts ridiculed and rejected. He never told Christine of the Comte's actions. The death of her father left her penniless and orphaned. Christine tried to reach out to her sweetheart. She wrote a letter in which she laid her soul bare to him. She told him of her current sorrow and of her hopes for the future. She held out her heart to him in the sweetest way possible, as only Christine can do and received the cruelest of replies. Her friend and sweetheart coldly informed her that he had no interest in hearing from her. It was Raoul who maliciously told Christine of her father's efforts to obtain help for his daughter. He told her that the daughter of a fiddle-playing beggar was not even fit enough to be employed as a servant to the de Chagny's. He ended his letter with a request that she not write to him again. Her sweetheart had turned on her and snubbed her when she needed him the most. It was you, her Angel of Music, who comforted her through that heartbreak.

"When Christine was 16, the ownership of the theater changed hands and the de Chagny family agreed to become patrons of the theater. Christine first saw Raoul in the theater on the afternoon that the reigning diva of the Opera Populaire, La Carlotta walked off the stage during one of her infamous fits of temper. The new owners introduced Raoul to the theater company as the Vicomte de Chagny. As Raoul left the theater, he swept by the place Christine was standing. She hid behind Meg and so avoided him that afternoon. However, Christine, as La Carlotta's understudy, had to take her place on stage that night. Her spectacular performance won rave reviews, but as she sang, Christine had unknowingly placed herself on display before Raoul. He did not recognize his former friend in the beautiful young woman singing on the stage that night. If someone had told the young Vicomte that the diva performing was Christine Daae he would most likely have shrugged his shoulders and not remembered the girl. If someone had told him that the diva was Little Lotte, he would have laughed and told them that Little Lotte was a clumsy, shy, lanky, awkward and homely little girl. The beauty gracing the stage could never be Little Lotte! Monsieur le Vicomte's interests were very simple and to the point. Women were for one thing and then discarded. He knew he would have to marry one someday in order to have an heir, but that didn't mean he would have to cease his other activities. And at that moment, he was going to exercise his rights as theater patron and take that diva. He would make use of her until; he became bored with her and then move on to the next girl.

"He burst into Christine's dressing room after the performance and attempted to charm her into a tryst, yet she repeatedly refuses him. It is during one of her vigorous rejections of him that he suddenly realizes who she is. He then attempts to cajole her into going out to dinner by talking about the good old days. Christine outraged shouts at him to leave. Luckily, Madame Giry was walking by her dressing room, heard Christine shouting and went to tell you. The Vicomte threatened to have Christine put out on the street and black-listed with all of the opera houses in Paris. Christine felt trapped and desperate at the thought of losing her position. She continued to refuse Raoul's attentions, so he locked her in her dressing room meaning to return later and force his attentions on her when no one was there to hear or help. The one thing Raoul didn't count on was you, Christine's Angel who appeared before her and helped her escape via a passage hidden behind a mirror in her dressing room. You took her to your home and she spent a fortnight with you. You gave her everything she needed and made no demands on her except that she eat, sleep and allow you to continue giving her voice lessons. She asked you to help her learn how to read sheet music and anything else that would help her improve her voice.

"It was sometime during those two weeks that Christine and her Angel became friends. Christine never asked her friend's name or the reason he wore a mask. In her childish inexperience, she believed it would be rude to ask about the mask and she believed your name was Angel. To question your friend about such things would be the height of rudeness and Christine was a very polite child.

"When at last she felt it would be safe to return to the opera house, her Angel reluctantly returned her and sent letters to the new owners warning them of Raoul's treachery. You also sent a letter to Raoul warning him not to see Christine again."

My voice falters and I stop for a moment looking around me. For a moment, I feel confused, but then the world comes back into focus. We are still together. Still in Madame's Giry's room. I had found myself falling into the story I was telling. I could see the notes. I could hear Christine's voice singing and see Raoul trying at first to charm and then threaten Christine. I shake my head. My movement rouses Erik from his thoughts. I feel his eyes on me and return his gaze. His eyes are sad and thoughtful.

"So, mon chére cœur, have you had to live your entire life this way? How can you bare being around other people?"

"It's been very difficult. I not only hear things, I'm also empathic. Being in a large crowd is horribly difficult because I not only hear what they're thinking or hear things that happened to them, I also feel what they felt as if it were happening to me. In a crowd I'm overwhelmed with all of those thoughts and feelings. If I stay too long in a crowd I get to the point where I can't move. It happened to me once. My husband saved me. He picked me up and carried me out of the theater. It took me three or four days before I could bear to be around another person again. He knew my gifts and respected them, but he never understood them. After that I learned how to protect myself in crowds by creating a wall around me. It keeps everyone out, but it's very lonely."

"At least you've been out in the world. My world is here. What is your favorite place? Is it outdoors or indoors?" He leans forward intent upon my answer.

My voice speaks telling me Erik is trying to divert me away from my story, but I hush my voice. He needs a break from his past, if only for this short moment. I will answer him and then continue with his story.

"My favorite place is outdoors. I love a place named, Yosemite National Park. It is a forest, but it has the most amazing mountains and rivers with beautiful waterfalls. One of the falls is named, Bridal Veil Falls. That is my favorite. Perhaps, someday, we can visit it. The three of us could go and we could walk the trails …"

My voice falters for I know my days of walking the trails of Yosemite are over, but I can dream.

"If needs be, I will carry you, mon chére cœur."

I smile at him and pat his hand.

With a sigh, I continue.

"But the notes didn't work, did they?"

He shakes his head. "No. I was too inexperienced in my dealings with people. I have learned much since then. At the time, I thought they'd read my accusations and with a sense of righteous indignation banish the Vicomte from the opera house. Banning him from the opera house would effectively remove any possibility of his seeing Christine. That is not what happened and herein lies the true tragedy. They didn't want to accuse him. His family is very wealthy as well as being a very old and well-respected bloodline. It would be of no benefit to drag the de Chagny name through the mud. The theater would lose the financial and social support of the de Chagny family. Their attitude was – after all she's just a singer, a dancer, an actress, a little nobody."

I nod my head. I can hear it all.

"So, after you brought her back to the theater Madame Giry and Meg tried their best to protect Christine, but everything fell apart during the performance of Il Muto. La Carlotta suddenly develops laryngitis during the show and has to walk off stage. The managers thrust the shocked Christine into the role. While she is being dressed, Joseph Buquet is drunk and walking about the scaffoldings over the stage. He stumbles, loses his footing. During his fall he becomes entangled in the scenery's pulley ropes and ends up hung above center stage. You had nothing to do with it, but Raoul swore out a warrant for you claiming he saw you in the scaffolding fighting with Buquet.

"During the melee that followed Buquet's death, Raoul grabs Christine and drags her up to the roof where he forces himself upon her. He leaves her alone on the roof after deflowering her. That is how you found her. Lying in the snow crying. Her clothing shredded, her virginity gone and her spirit dying.

"You took her to Madame Giry and she helped mend what she could. That was when the idea began to take shape in your mind. The idea of how to free Christine of Raoul. You spent the next three months writing Don Juan Triumphant. During that time Christine discovered she was pregnant, but the fates were kind and she miscarried shortly afterwards.

"Raoul forced her to accompany him to the Bal Masque where he announced that she had agreed to marry him. You were in attendance and decided to put your plan into action. You dressed as The Red Masque of Death and publicly announced the upcoming production of Don Juan Triumphant, which starred Christine Daae.

"Your plan was to take Piangi's place (Madame Giry went to Piangi and told him of the rape and he agreed to help) at the pivotal moment of the opera allow Christine to unmask you and then have everyone believe you kidnapped her, possibly murdering her. But everything went to hell.

"Raoul came up with a plan of his own. He hired a man to follow Christine everywhere and he overheard Meg and Christine talking about what a good man Piangi was and how he was going to help Christine by allowing Christine's Angel to take his place on the stage during the Point of No Return duet. The night of the opera, Raoul had his manservant rig the chandelier so he could kill you that night. He also had his manservant kill Piangi. Raoul himself threatened Madame Giry and Meg into silence afterwards. So, you took Piangi's place and you allowed Christine to unmask you in public because you knew that everyone would believe that a man who looked as you do would be capable of doing anything to a young innocent girl. You were willing to sacrifice your life to do what was right. But Raoul's manservant was slow in releasing the chandelier and Raoul didn't know you had rigged the bridge to act as your escape route. So, you did get Christine away from the opera house, but you couldn't save her. Could you? Raoul's manservant threatened Meg's life and forced Madame Giry to show Raoul the way to your home. She led him to a trap and ran away, but he escaped and found his way to your home. You and Christine were packing up some clothes and getting ready to leave Paris when Raoul surprised you. He tied you up, put a noose around your neck and told Christine that either she had to marry him or you would die. Rather than let you die, Christine went with Raoul, but before she left she gave you her ring as a sign of her unending friendship. You promised Christine that you would make no attempt at rescuing her. She had made a promise and if you freed her she would be breaking that promise. She said to you, Angel, I need to keep this promise. I need to be strong and not have you pay the price for my freedom. All will work out in the end."

"She's both incredibly brave and extremely naïve, but I thank her for not sacrificing you. Being a woman in this time seems very unpleasant. In my time, Raoul would not have been able to do what he did. Or at least, I'd like to think that."


	11. Countdown

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One 

* * *

Chapter Eleven - Countdown**

"So, how'd I do? Any changes?"

Erik sits still and quiet. He whispers, "No one was ever supposed to know about Raoul. I love her. She is the little sister I always wanted. She's so beautiful and appears to be very sophisticated, but in truth, she incredibly young. And I couldn't save her …"

"Erik! It may have started with her wanting you to rescue her, but she did something extraordinary. Don't take that away from her! She sacrificed herself to save you. She did something truly heroic! And no matter what that bastard does, he can never take that away from her. Besides, you saw to what lengths the Vicomte goes to change his memories of the past when he is an old man. There is a special hell for men like him."

"Wait! I didn't finish the story. I almost forgot about the rose in the cemetery. After Christine died, you take up residence nearby and take care of her grave. You see de Chagny's car coming up the road and just to unnerve him, you place the rose with Christine's ring tied to it with a black ribbon next to her headstone. You leave it there just to remind the Vicomte that there are people who know the truth about him." I snuggle into his shoulder and yawn.

"I never …Oh, you're telling the story if we had never met and I was an old man living in the year 1919. I understand."

"Christine, sit up! You were starting to doze off."

I unhappily sit up and rub my eyes.

"Erik, tell me something about you. I know almost nothing of you before Christine came to the Opera Populaire. And I talk so much! You must be bored listening to me."

"Never! There really isn't anything to tell. I've worked for the opera house designing sets and composing scores. I like to paint and I love reading my books. After Christine left with the Vicomte, he did keep his promise and kept the police away from me. So, I stayed where I was. The Vicomte's family is rebuilding the opera house and it should be ready to re-open late next year. That's why it's so quiet around here."

I glance at the clock and am immediately alarmed. Much to my dismay, the time for me to leave is fast approaching.

"Christine, no! Don't look!" Erik implores.

"How can I not? How can I leave her alone? What kind of mother would that make me?" I immediately regret those words, but refuse to take them back.

"One I would not be able to love." He replies. "I understand. I am being selfish. I just don't want to take the chance that we may never be able to find each other again."

"Erik, we crossed from my world together once. Perhaps we could do it again?"

"I suppose, but let's wait until we have no other choice, please?"

"Very well. I will wait ten more minutes, but I cannot wait any longer than that. You know, we can't even be certain that my going to sleep will take me back. I pray that Madame returns soon."

We sit in silence for a moment and then a thought crosses my mind.

"Erik. You do want to return to my home with me, don't you? You are planning to go with me whether or not Madame comes back in time, aren't you? I don't wish to be without you or my daughter. Please?"

A warm light enters his eyes and a lovely smile rolls on his lips.

"How could I refuse such a beautiful invitation? Very well. I will accompany you. I do not wish to be parted from you either. I do not wish to feel the way I did this morning when I awoke alone in my bed." His arm tightens briefly around my shoulder as if he is reassuring himself that I am real and really here.

I smile at him. "We should write Madame a note. Let her know what we are going to try to do and that we will be back just as soon as we can. We just need paper and pen."

"I am not letting go of you, so come … let us find what we need."

He stands and pulls me up with him. I lean on him and we walk to Madame's desk. Erik takes a piece of paper from a draw and opens an inkwell. He holds the quill in one hand and my hand in the other. He rapidly writes a short note, signs it with a flourish, returns the quill and closes the inkwell.

"It's time to try. We have to go. She may already be awake." My anxiety weighs heavily on me and Erik feels it.

"Yes. We must, but first …"

He takes me in his arms and we share a passionate kiss.

We walk back to the settee and sit facing one another. We tightly grasp each other's hands. I find myself staring at his hands and feel he is doing the same to mine. Slowly we raise our gaze and our eyes meet.

A clap of thunder resounds and a bolt of lightening flashes.


	12. Home Again

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One 

* * *

Chapter Twelve – Home Again**

I see nothing for a moment, but I feel Erik's hands holding mine. I blink my eyes and after a moment, sight returns. We are together! It worked! I lean forward and rest my head for a moment on his chest. I hear the steady pounding of his heart and it comforts me. I realize that we are lying naked together in a bed. The room is dark and the silence around us tells me it is the silence of night. The feel of the mattress is familiar and I snuggle closer to his warmth.

"We are in my bedroom." I whisper.

"It is still night here." Is his reply.

"Yes, I know. So, dearest, how should we spend the time before the sun rises?" I tease.

I feel his silent answer as he presses the hardness of his body against mine. He covers my face with kisses as I do the same to him. And as we move our lips to drink from one another's mouth, he covers my body with his. I reach my hand down, grasp him and guide him inside. Our breathing quickens and we are simply a man and a woman for a time.

Much later, we whisper to one another words of love and explore one another's body with gentle caresses. The passion takes us again.

Much, much later.

"We need to sleep sometime, mon chére cœur. I'll take first watch."

"Oh, thank you, Erik. Look down towards the foot of the bed do you see the amber light?" Not needing a response, I continue. "That is a clock. It's 4:00 a.m. Wake me at 6:30 a.m. Trystin will probably wake at 9:00 a.m. so I will let you take your turn until she wakes up. All right?"

I can feel him nod his agreement. I am so very tired. Exhausted and happy. I settle into his arms, close my eyes and for a time, I know no more.

And from the darkness out of a mist, comes a small black boat. There is a man standing on the stern using a long pole to propel the small craft forward. I hear music and suddenly I am not watching the man from a distance, I am lying in the boat and looking up at him. The boat is gently, but insistently rocking. I ask him if he can pole more gently so the rocking will stop, but the rocking continues. And then I gasp as the boat begins to shake. I open my eyes and find it is only poor Erik trying to wake me. I look at him sheepishly.

"Oops! Sorry!"

"No, I am the one who is sorry. You were so peaceful, I hated to disturb you. I normally need very little sleep, if any. However, you have found a way to make me sleepy."

I giggle and he kisses the tip of my nose.

"Good night." He murmurs already slipping into sleep.

"Good night, my love."

I do not leave the bed, nor let go of his hand. I lie in the slowly fading dark replaying our lovemaking in my mind. The constant wonder I feel as he anticipates an unspoken desire. Never had I thought that lovemaking could be so joyous and so complete. Our bodies moving with a perfect choreographed rhythm. So in tune and so in sync. I found no need left unsatisfied and could feel no need in Erik either. I smiled at the sleeping face next to me and blew him a kiss. I knew that to touch Erik when he slept would awaken him immediately. Too many years of being hunted, afraid and alone. Two nights of love could not heal those wounds, but I would be grateful if the fates would grant us the time together so I help could heal them. As the day dawned and the light left the grey tones and moved into the gold of morning. Erik turned in his sleep and I could see his chest and arm emerge from the sheets and comforter. A sudden thought came into my mind. Does he have clothes? Very slowly I raise myself to a sitting position and try to see if (like my nightgown on the den floor) any of Erik's clothing made the transition with him. I see my nightgown lying on the floor next to (what I always considered) my side of the bed and there lying neatly folded on my bureau are all of Erik's clothes. Good thing, too. While I had never gotten around to packing up my husband's clothes, but they would have done Erik no good. My husband was the same exact height (but not weight) as myself (5'2") whereas I guess that Erik is mostly likely 6'2". Not a close fit by any standards.

My mind wanders and I find (much to my surprise) that I am not at all sleepy. I'm much too excited to sleep. Excited both by having Erik in my bed and by having Erik in my world (if that makes sense.) Not wanting to disturb his rest, I compose myself and while not taking my eyes off Erik, I begin to write (in my mind) the true story of The Phantom of the Opera.

When at last it is almost 9:00 a.m., I gently place my hand on his arm. As I suspected, his eyes fly open in alarm. He draws back from my touch and springs from the bed. By the time his feet hit the carpeted floor he is fully awake. He turns his eyes to mine and I see he is horrified by what he considers his rude behavior.

"Come, dearest, no offense taken. Please come back to bed. Trystin does not knock before she enters my room, nor is my door all of the way closed. If she awakens, I would prefer she not receive a lesson in male anatomy today."

I cannot help the grin on my face, but the grin turns lustful as my gaze drops. He notices and shakes his head.

"Are all women of your time this uninhibited?"

"I honestly don't know. I was really very lucky to have a mother who gave me a very positive attitude about sex. She once said to me that after having her sixth baby, she'd lost all sense of modesty. After having all those people watch as you give birth, she couldn't be bothered worrying over what other people thought. She said that if you'd seen it before, you knew what it was so no big deal. If you hadn't seen it before, you didn't know what it was so again no big deal. She had so many funny sayings. I miss her terribly."

I pause, remembering.

"I know you do. I can feel your sorrow." He says simply and slides back beneath the sheets.

"Dearest, I need to ask you something, but first I am going to tell you some things. When I was ten, I worked in my father's office. He is a doctor. Medicine has come along way since 1870. When I was older, I worked at a newspaper as a photographer and on some assignments I freelanced for the coroner's office. I've seen some pretty horrendous things. Anyway, please do not take offense. There is a reason for what I'm about to ask. Were you born this way? And if so, has it become worse over the years? And, lastly, does it cause you physical pain?"

He is silent and I worry that I have spoken too much, too soon. I turn my gaze to the ceiling afraid that I have hurt him.

"I was indeed born this way. No, other than growing with me as I grew, it is much the same as always. And, the only part that can cause me pain is my eye. It often becomes very red and tired. I have to take great care that it does not become infected. Why do you ask?"

I nod my head as he has just voiced my one concern for his condition.

"I ask because I believe that doctors in my time could help you. There are doctors that perform reconstructive surgery on people born with cleft palates and all other sorts of conditions. I've seen some amazing things. I am only concerned because I know you are always aware of your appearance and since it seems to matter to you, I thought I would let you know that something could be done about it."

More silence.

"Have you ever seen anyone like me before?"

"No, but I've seen people who are much worse. And the doctors were able to help them."

"So, people in your time do not believe deformities are a sign of the devil?"

"No, dearest, we now know that the thing that causes these things to happen are inherited from our parents or caused by exposure to different types of chemicals. And while it is difficult for some people to look at a person with a deformity, as a whole society does not ostracize them from the general public. Most people try to help … if help is wanted."

"I will think about what you have said. Are you offering to take me to your father for an examination? You would let your father know that you care for me?"

"Erik, other than wishing to remain here in bed with you forever, the idea of being able to be with you anywhere makes me happy and proud. Of course, I would bring you to my father. And I definitely want him to know that I love you. He will be very happy for me. Remember, he knows how it feels to lose a spouse. He will be happy that I've found love."

His eyes shine and he is unconsciously shaking his head back and forth and back and forth.

"You really do love me, don't you?"

"Oh yes, I do. And I am going to tell you so many times and show you in as many different ways that I can think of until you truly believe it. And then, once you believe me. I will tell you again. Erik, I love you!"

I scoot across the bed and climb on top of him. I look deeply into his eyes. I smile and proceed to kiss him all over his face. I feel him swelling beneath me and cannot resist. I rise above him and then slowly lower myself onto him. I sit motionless atop him and then flex my inner muscles. He groans. I remain motionless and continue to tighten and release, tighten and release, tighten and release. Over and over. We remain still our eyes locked on one another the only sound is our ragged breathing. At last, his eyes close, his back arches and his head tilts back. He thrusts up into me and we climax together. A small cry escapes my lips and I am taken away by wave after wave of utter and complete pleasure.

After a time, I come back to myself and find that he has lifted me from my perch and placed me next to him on the bed.

I turn my head to meet his gaze. We stare at one another for a long time. I smile weakly and sigh happily.

"We just may be a perfect match." He says.

"Christine, I …" his voice trails off. After all we have done with and to one another; it seems strange to hear the embarrassment in his voice.

I, on the other hand, am now complete. He has called me by my name for the first time. Yet, I feel discomfort emanating from him.

"What is wrong, my love?"


	13. Trystin

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Thirteen - Trystin**

"Ma chéri, où est la salle de bains? La toilette?"

I want to laugh, but know he will not appreciate it. I rise from the bed and carefully using the bed to steady myself, I bend and pick up my nightgown from the floor. I pull it over my head and down to cover my nakedness. I walk to my bureau and find that not only are all of Erik's clothes here, his black wig and mask are here. I pick up his white ruffled shirt and toss it to him.

"Best to cover up just a bit in case Trystin wakes up. She's growing up too fast already."

He catches the shirt and slips it on. He rolls to the side of the bed and then stands. The shirt is long enough, just. He walks to me and looks at his belongings on my bureau.

"My dear, do not protest. I think this is best for my initial introduction to your daughter." He picks up the wig and mask.

I decide not to argue on the slight chance that he might be correct.

He stands looking at me expectantly and show him the way to what he needs. He stands in the doorway of the bathroom and looks about in amazement.

"So, have I become involved with a wealthy widow?"

I laugh. "No, dear. This is the small bathroom. I use the smaller bedroom and let Trystin have the master suite. Now, _that_ bathroom is nice."

"As to rich, well, I've always been the main bread winner of the family, but I made sure that both my husband and I had life insurance. When he died, the insurance money allowed me to pay off the mortgage on the house and my finances are not a concern to me. Trystin and I live comfortably. I don't have to work, but I do."

"I will sneak into the master bath and then meet you in the living room. It's just down there at the end of this hall."

"Oh! Just to be safe, this is how you lock the door."

He walks into the bath and closes the door.

I turn and quietly push open Trystin's door and clumsily tiptoe into her bathroom. I shower and make my ablutions then return to the bedroom and dress. I choose a long sleeve blue-gray shirt and some straight-leg jeans.

Ready for the day, I head to the living room. The hall bathroom door is still closed and I hear the sound of running water. I smile and continue to the living room. Our cat, Misty, is lying the middle of the room and lazily rolls over on her back to look at me. I greet her and head through the living room to the entry hall and on through to the den. My cane is in its usual spot, leaning against the corner of the couch. I gratefully take its support and walk back to the living room. I walk through yet another doorway out of the living room (there are four altogether) and enter the kitchen. This is my second favorite room in the house. With its large multi-paned windows it is as bright as my den is dark. It has yards of granite countertops and a wonderful chef's island in the center. Being of Italian descent, I love to cook. And being the oldest of six children, I know only size recipe. Huge!

I decide to make Erik and Trystin homemade pancakes. No frozen limp things or stale box mess. All fresh ingredients. I turn on the griddle so it will be nice and hot. I brush on a little olive oil and then wipe down the griddle with a paper towel. I retrieve a mixing bowl and the ingredients. The only ingredient I don't take out is the blueberries. I buy them fresh and then freeze them. They cook better in the pancakes when they're frozen. I turn on the oven to 150° and put three dinner plates in to warm up. I take three sets of utensils from a drawer, three plate mats, three cups and three napkins join the utensils on my kitchen table. I put out a carton of orange juice and another of milk. Then add a bottle of maple syrup, a jar of apple butter, orange marmalade and a bottle of blueberry syrup to the table. The last two items I add are a small bowl of powdered sugar and my butter server (a jolly fat woman that I received as a present from my sister.) I survey the table and nod my head in satisfaction. I return to the island and begin adding the ingredients to the bowl. The secret to good fluffy pancakes is stir it just enough to combine the ingredients. Mix the batter too much and the result is flat, tough pancakes. I don't realize it, but I'm humming the Flower Duet from Lakmé. I turn to check on the griddle when I see that Erik has found me. He stands in the doorway leaning against the door jamb fully dressed watching me. I smile at him. A gentle smile caresses his mouth.

"I hope you're hungry and like pancakes. It's Trystin's favorite breakfast and I thought that today is a good day to celebrate, don't you?"

I sprinkle a drop of water on the griddle and it sizzles perfectly.

I open the oven door and a gentle warmth radiates out. He walks up behind me and places his arms about my waist. I lean back into him. I never imagined I would experience a more perfect moment. And yet, here I am living it.

"Pancakes? I am sorry, but I do not know this food. I am sure it will be delicious. And yes, I am most hungry. Can I do anything to help?"

"Oh, I'm an old hand in the kitchen and everything's pretty much ready. Just have to spoon the batter onto the griddle. Oh, pancakes and sort of a like a crepe only thicker. I can cook you some eggs, bacon and toast if you prefer."

"Pancakes will be wonderful. Thank you."

"Oh, this is my pleasure."

"I can tell."

"Would you like blueberries in yours? Trystin and I both love them."

"Blueberries, this late in the fall? Interesting. Yes, I would like that."

I open the freezer and pull out the container with the blueberries. I spoon the batter onto the griddle, then open the container, and quickly add the berries to the top of each pancake. I lick the blue from my fingers and Erik laughs. I grab a spatula from the carousel and begin my wait.

"One minute per side. Can you keep an eye on them? I'm going to go wake up the sleepy head!"

He takes the spatula from my hand and looks at it dubiously. I shake my head and laugh.

"Don't worry. You'll be fine. I'll be right back."

I walk towards Trystin's room and call out, "Hey! Sleepy head! Rise and shine! We have a guest for breakfast. It's pancakes with blueberries!"

I walk into her room and see her sitting up in bed and rubbing her eyes. She stretches like a cat and looks at me.

"Oh no!" I tease. "Look! She's growing again! No stretching! You're growing too fast!"

She giggles as only a child of seven years can.

"Would you like to climb aboard the choo-choo mama?"

"Yes! Yes! Choo-choo mama, please!"

She stands on her bed with outstretched arms. I offer my back and she climbs aboard. She clings to me and I hold her little butt with my one free hand.

I walk to the kitchen making "choo-choo" noises and she makes the noise of a train whistle. We enter the kitchen and there he stands.

Trystin lets out an excited shriek and immediately attempts to squirm her way off my back. Erik looks alarmed. I shake my head, smile and mouth the words, "Wait. Watch."

Her struggling escalates. "Mom! Let me down!" She demands. I gently oblige.

She runs to Erik and looks up at him with a radiant smile.

"You're him. Aren't you? You're Erik!" She laughs delightedly and whirls around. She looks at me. "Mom, when did you meet him?" She pauses. "Wait a minute, you can't meet him. Are you Erik or uh, the actor?" She turns to me, "What's his name?"

"Gerry … Gerald Butler."

"Yah, are you Erik or Gerry?"

"T, calm down. T, this is Erik."

"Wow! This is so cool! I'm really glad that you're Erik! This is so great!" She whirls around to Erik again. "Watch out! You're going to drop the pancakes!" She laughs. "Mom, you'd better get the pancakes."

I walk to Erik and rescue him from the spatula. I remove the plates one at a time from the oven with a pot holder and dish the pancakes onto the plates.

Trystin stops her dance and stands before Erik. She looks up at him with a serious look on her face. She extends her hand and says, "Hi! I'm Trystin, but you can call me T or TT."

Erik accepts her outstretched hand and gently shakes it. "I, Mademoiselle T, am Erik. You may call me your humble servant." He leans down and places a courtly kiss on the back of her hand, which elicits a delighted giggle and blush.

"Okay, that's enough. Trystin, to the table. Put the motor-mouth in 'Park' and plant it. I'll be right there. You too, Erik."

I take a pot holder in each hand, pick up two of the plates and head into the dining room. I walk in just in time to see Erik pushing Trystin on her chair up to the table.

"Breakfast is served." I place one of the plates in front of Trystin and another at the head of the table. I nod at Erik. "This one is for you. I'll be right back."

I head back into the kitchen, pick up my plate and return to the dining room. Trystin is gaily chattering away to Erik about how her mom makes the best pancakes in the world. I place my plate on the mat to Erik's left. I drop the pot holder on the table and go to pull my chair out when Erik intervenes.

"Allow me, my lady." He pulls my chair out, I sit and then he gently slides me to the table. At last he sits and there is a look of bliss on his face as he surveys the table and the ladies on his right and left.

"Let us eat before it grows cold." He says and we all dig in.


	14. Transformations

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Fourteen – Transformations**

Trystin takes it upon her to teach Erik the best way to eat pancakes (which means syrup on the side, no butter and plenty of powdered sugar.) He tries it her way and admits it is good, but tells her he would like to add some butter. Trystin pauses and then replies happily, "That's the way my daddy liked them too! Does that mean you're going to be my daddy now?"

Erik and I look at each other both of us are at a loss for words. This is the last thing I was expecting. I thought she would be happy to meet him, yes. Then after a time, she would accept him as a part of our life. If we were fortunate enough to be able to find a way to be together. Her happy, innocent question proves to me that he belongs with us as my child feels the same immediate bond with the man that I did. Like her mother, she was bound to love him. Erik's voice interrupts my silent reverie.

Erik's face becomes serious. He turns to her and cupping her cheek with his hand says, "Trystin, I can never be your real daddy. You get only one of those a lifetime. However, such a beautiful young lady needs a papa. Would you allow me the honor of being your papa? I would like to do this for your daddy since he cannot be here."

If I hadn't already loved him this moment would have done me in for certain. However, I do love him already both utterly and completely.

We turn our heads and our eyes meet. And, suddenly I am broken no longer.

After 48 years of seeking, the hollowness of my soul filled. The broken place within my breast complete. All of the longing and quiet desperation I have ever felt is gone. In its place is Erik. He is a silver brilliance filling my mind banishing all darkness from my soul. I am golden light shining within Erik. I chase away his darkness. We complete one another. The broken edges of our soul mesh perfectly with one another. Our two halves mend and become whole in that moment. Our eyes locked upon one another, I know that he is I and I am he. I also know that he feels it as well. No longer are we one soul ripped in two. We are one soul sharing two bodies, two minds.

Our eyes fix upon one another and we revel in our oneness. I gasp as I see Erik's mask and wig dissolve leaving his face bare. I glance at Trystin. She leans on the table watching the two of us with a huge smile on her face. I return my gaze to Erik and watch as the tortured, twisted and disfigured features of his face become smooth and well formed. As if some invisible hand is erasing an error. I watch as his eye, eyebrow, nose and scalp reform. His missing eyebrow grows.

As I watch Erik's transformation (of which he seems completely unaware) I notice he is staring at me with equal wonder.

Lastly, his bare scalp fills with hair. His transformation is complete. Now, his face perfectly formed with a full head of thick, black, straight hair. As I gaze in wonder at the total beauty of this face, I realize this is the face I have always seen whenever I look at Erik. The other disfigured face was the one I have always had to struggle to see.

I notice something else. It is quiet in the kitchen. Very quiet. No, I correct myself. It is quiet inside my head.

"Erik!" I whisper and realize that I can hear again. "Erik! Trystin! I can hear again!" I shout. Then I whisper, "I can hear again."

"Mom, that's not the only thing that's happened. You guys need to come with me." She stands and holds out her hands to each of us. "You need to look in a mirror."

As meek as children, we each take one of her proffered hands. I stand and find that the pain in my hip and leg are gone. I can walk again without my cane! Trystin tugs at our hands and leads us into my bedroom. She releases our hands and gives each of us a little push towards the mirror. Her smile is radiant as she looks at first Erik and then me. Erik and I hesitate for just a moment and then we step before the mirrored wardrobe doors. The reflections revealed by the mirror stun us. We gasp! Erik sees his transformation and raises his hands to touch his face as if to make certain the mirror is not lying. I see a reflection of myself that I remember seeing when I was 24 years old. I too raise my hands and touch my face. The difference is not that great from moments ago. My greatest difference is my hair. It is back to its original dark auburn color (the hair color and grays are gone) and is fuller and longer (now reaching down my back to stop at my hips) with a gentle natural curliness that I never had before.

We turn to one another and our hands reach for one another. Erik takes me in his arms and kisses me.

Trystin clears her throat and says, "Get a room!"

I turn towards her (not leaving Erik's embrace) and reply, "This IS our room, silly."

Erik laughs and releases me. I lift Trystin and happily swing her around me (this is something I have never been able to do.) After a few revolutions, I gently drop her to the floor and I wobble for a moment until I regain my equilibrium. We are all laughing.

"I'm still hungry. Who wants to join me in the kitchen for breakfast?" Erik asks.

"I do! I do!" Cries Trystin.

"Me, too!" I answer with a grin.

With Trystin walking between the two of us and our arms around one another's waists, we return to the kitchen to finish our food. The first thing I see is my cane leaning against the table.

"I'll be right back." I walk to the cane, pick it up and quickly walk (me, I'm quickly walking) to the foyer. I place my companion of the last couple of years into the umbrella holder and thank it for its service. "I hope you will excuse me if I don't make use of you. It seems I've been given a second chance and I mean to make the most of it." I whisper to it, give it a little pat and return to finish my breakfast.

We finish eating as quickly as we can and perform the clean up in record time.

The first thing we do is go outside into the backyard. Erik slowly walks through the French doors and into the sun. He stands there for a moment with his eyes closed letting the sun shine on his face. I feel his happiness and revel in it. Trystin runs ahead of us and sits on a swing. She smiles as she watches the two of us. I watch Erik open his eyes and look about.

"Come out and play with us!" I call. I turn and run (run!) to the lawn. I stop and turn a cartwheel. Then I do a forward flip, land perfectly balanced on both my feet and complete the set with a forward roll again landing on both feet. I throw my arms out, arch my back, tip my head back and lift my chin in the proper gymnastic dismount.

I turn back to Erik and see him staring at me in amazement.

"I had no idea." He says simply.

"Most people don't. I was a gymnast when I was a child. The balance beam was my best event. I studied martial arts. I am a Phase Three in Jeet Chun Do. I had to give it up when the full contact combat caused me some female problems. I also studied Escrima, which is Filipino stick fighting and Thai kick boxing. However, my specialty is pressure points. I can disable a man larger than you, Erik, without having to throw a punch."

"I am not familiar with these things. Are you saying you were a fighter? Can you demonstrate? You can disable me? How?"

I walk up to him and we stand facing each other about two feet apart. I see Trystin begin to giggle. This demonstration is well-known to her and she knows how it will end.

"Attack me. However you like and don't tell where the attack will come from."

I unconsciously assume the ready position. My front foot is flat on the ground and my rear foot with raised heel for easy shifting of balance and movement in attack or retreat. I breathe and wait.

Erik seems uncomfortable with the thought of attacking me.

I reassure him. "You won't hurt me and I won't hurt you, either." I smile mischievously at him. "Well, not too badly, anyway!"

He suddenly realizes that I'm very serious about this and that this is all in fun. I can see him decide. I see the muscles of his arms tense through the fabric of his shirt. My hands come up. The left hand for attack, right hand for defense.

His arms reach towards me to grab me. I turn to my left and drop slightly. My right arm sweeps in a short arc, deflecting the attack. As my arm deflects, my right hand lightly grasps Erik's right bicep. I push my finger into his tricep, which causes Erik to grimace and his attack falters. My left hand pins his right arm, which frees my right hand. I side step right and calmly press my forefinger into the base of his throat. Total attack time, about four seconds.

As I press my finger into his throat, Erik steps back. And seeing a coup de gras, I release my hold on his bicep and change hand positions. Instead of finger into throat, I run my hand up his throat and into the base of his chin. I step forward. Erik's chin goes up, arms fly out, his feet slip on the wet grass and he lands unceremoniously on his bottom.

I skip away and back into the ready position.

He sits up there on the grass, blinking. I feel his shock, surprise, pride and his laughter ready to burst forth.

"Is there anything you cannot do?" He laughs. He stands up and brushes off his clothes.

"Well, I can't father children, but other than that why shouldn't I be able to do anything? You do realize that I can say the same of you. Artist, architect, composer, writer, magician, swordsman, singer and much more. We are both Renaissance people." My voice whispers urgently for a moment and then is silent. I think for a instant and then make my decision.

"T, do you think we should take Erik to the mall and get him some new clothes? Do you want to be his fashion coordinator?" I turn to Erik and wink.

"You bet I do! Let's go!" She jumps off her swing and races into the house. "I'll be ready in five minutes."

"T, don't forget, brush your teeth and your hair!"

"Okay! Okay! I will!" Her reply fades as she disappears into the house.

Erik walks around the yard, feeling the warmth of the sun and enjoying the sweet smells of my garden.

"I needed to speak with you and I didn't want Trystin to hear. My voice told me that Cecile is in trouble. We must go back to Paris tonight. That's why she didn't return this morning. Do not worry, my voice told me she will be all right until midnight tonight."

"How can you be certain of this?" His eyes narrow and turn dark.

"My voice told me. My voice doesn't lie and it has never been wrong. She is safe until midnight tonight, so we have some time. Not a lot, but it should be enough. I'm trying to decide what to do about Trystin. My heart tells me not to leave her alone again. Yet, I fear for her safety if we take her to Paris. And then again, I'm afraid of what will happen to her if we leave her here and we can't return for her. Erik, what should I do? Help me. What should we do?"

He lowers his head and thinks for a moment. Then nods his head.

"We must take her with us. She will stay in Madame's room while we do what we must. We can lock her in and she will be safe there. I would take her to my home, but there are too many ways in and out. I cannot guarantee her safety there."

"Then we bring her with us. Do you think Madame will mind if I put Trystin in her bed?"

"No. Especially not after she meets her. That child is special just as her mother is." He smiles at me.

"I love you."

We walk into the living room and he marvels. I did not notice your furniture before now. What is this?"

"It's from China. I like Chinese art and furniture. The couch and tables are made of rosewood and those are Chinese dragons carved across the back and on the armrests. If you like that come here and see this."

I lead him to my formal dining room and step aside so he can enter the room. He walks to the table. His hand reaches out and caresses the carvings that run around the outer sloping edge of the table.

"They are beautiful. Who are they?"

"They're on the chair backs as well. They represent the four seasons. You know, spring, summer, winter and fall. They are minor goddess. My favorite goddess is Quan Yin. I have a bronze, an alabaster and a wooden carving of Quan Yin. She is the Chinese Goddess of Creation. Before the earth existed there was Quan Yin, the phoenix and the dragon. The phoenix (the heavens) and the dragon (the oceans) could not exist in harmony and fought constantly. At last, Quan Yin could take no more of their battling and stepped between the two. She received a cut on her hand as she separated the two creatures. The wound was not deep, but her blood flowed freely. It dripped and landed on the back of the dragon. The places touched by her blood became land. Would you like to see her?"

"Of course. Lead the way."

I show him around my house while we wait for Trystin.

He turns to me and says, "There is something you haven't told me, isn't there?"

For the first time since our two halves rejoined, I cannot meet his eyes. I feel a shadow from the past, a fear darken my mind. I try to push it away, but the more I struggle with it the deeper it digs in. I know Erik can feel it too.

He continues. "Yes, there is. It has nothing to do with Madame. It is … It is about Christine."

I look at the floor continuing my struggle against the fear.

"_Name it!"_ My voice cries. _"Name it and it will have no power over you."_

I know this fear, but the answer to my voice is not the answer Erik requires.

I nod miserably. "I was wrong. We must help set Christine free. We have to find a way to help her. She deserves to be happy, not imprisoned with the Vicomte."

"I feel that is the right thing to do as well. And yet, there is still something else. What is it? What troubles you so? Mon chére cœur, please, look at me!"

I raise my eyes to meet his. He sees my fear. In his eyes I see confusion and take hope from that.

"_Name your fear!"_ My voice cries again.

I ignore it and continue. "I have an idea of how we can free her. When I went to the university, I majored in history and minored in English. I specialized in Pre-Grecian civilizations, but I seem to remember something about the burning of the Tuileries Palace in May 1871. We can use that to make Raoul believe that Christine dies there. I don't have all of the details worked out, but she would be free of him. Free to find happiness." I trail off and find myself looking at the floor again.

I feel his hand under my chin and he raises my face. I lift my eyes to his and hate that he can see tears gathering in my eyes. I cannot stop them. I feel my lip tremble. I bite my lip to still it.

"You believe I would want to be with her?" He pauses. "No." And there is a surprised sadness in his voice. "You fear it."

"Yes." The word escapes my mouth before I can stop it.

He gathers me into a tight embrace, his hand strokes my hair.

"I love you. That will never change. Yes, I do love Christine, but not as I love you. I never did. Never. She is but a child. I feel for her as a brother to a sister. I could no more kiss her as I kiss you than I could kiss Trystin that way. It would be wrong. Please, feel me my love. Do not fear. Fear is a cruel form of le petit mort." He pauses and shakes his head. "I never thought someone would fear that I would not love them."

The voice booms in my mind, _"NAME IT!"_

The sound of it is like an explosion in my mind and I hear Erik gasp.

"What was that?"

My voice spoke so loud that its words crossed our bond and hit Erik with its powerful demand of me.

I cling to him for support and breathe slowly to calm my mind.

"Erik, I must name my fear then it will have no power over me. The name of my fear is …"

I inhale and on the exhale, I breathe out the word, "Rejection!"

The darkness in my mind contracts into a tight ball.

Erik stiffens as he hears the name of my fear for is one he owns as well.

He joins with me and gives voice to the name of his fear, "Rejection!"

An orb of blinding silver and gold light consumes the shadow ball. As the light devours the shadow, our memories of rejection pass before both our minds' eyes. The memories flee before the light, but the light is too strong, too swift and it overtakes the memories and dissolves them until those shadows remain no more.

We stand facing one another, blinking in surprise and relief at our release from our fear.

I look into the blue-green depths of Erik's eyes and know I would be happy to just stand there and stare at them forever. He smiles, takes my hand, leads me to the couch, where he sits me down. He lowers himself to rest on one knee before me and holds my hand in both of his. We gaze deep into one another's eyes. I break my eyes away and close my eyes.

"Christine, I have not the token required by custom, but perhaps, you will forgive me this. Christine. Christine!"

He gives my hand a little shake and I open my eyes and he holds my gaze with his own. He is so serious and earnest.

"Christine, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

"Of course she will!" Trystin answers from behind us.

I gaze into his eyes and smile. He releases my hand and we throw our arms around each other and hug one another tightly.

"Yes, I will. I will be your wife. Erik, dearest, I am sorry. I did not doubt you. I never doubted you. I only doubted that I was worthy of being loved by you."

"I know, ma chére cœur, it is a fear we shared. It is gone and done now. And well, we will just have to spend the rest of our lives showing each how much we love and want each other. We will not allow anyone or anything to draw us apart ever again, mon chére cœur. I love you."

"I love you, Erik."

Trystin joins us and chatters excitedly about being our flower girl.

As quickly as it appeared, the fear is gone forever. I feel Erik's love flowing into me and I return his love with waves of my own. He blinks as he feels my thoughts of desire. He shakes his head with a glance at Trystin.

He thinks to me, "Later, ma chére cœur."

I give him a side-long look and a lop-sided smile. I turn to Trystin.

"Well, ready to go, T?"

"Yep! Let's go!"


	15. Su Shopping

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Fifteen – Su Shopping**

I lead Erik and Trystin to the garage where I have parked my little metallic purple Sunfire. Erik looks dubiously at the vehicle.

"We do not use horse carriages any longer. As you probably guessed. Don't worry I'm a very good driver."

"Yep. Mom's really good. And her car is nice. I like it 'cause it's purple."

He looks at me. "Car?"

"A horseless carriage. Hmm … I wonder … carriage, cart, car? Possibly. Also known as an automobile."

"Hmmm …"

I unlock the doors with my remote and open the driver's side door. I flip the seat forward.

"Okay, T. Get in and buckle up."

She clambers into the back seat and into her booster seat. I see T fasten her seat belt and satisfied flip the seat back into place.

"Be right back, T. Gotta show Erik how to open the door."

I walk around the car marveling at how fast and easy I can get around. Erik stands patiently at the passenger door. I walk up and demonstrate the door latch, close it again and then let Erik open it for himself.

"Oh! Wait just a second! I need to adjust the seat. It's all the way forward and your legs won't fit."

I actually run back around the car and slide onto the driver's seat. I easily reach over the console and move the passenger seat back.

"T, you okay?"

"Yep!"

"Sorry, but Erik has long legs."

"That's okay. I'll live …"

I continue the old joke, "yes, but you won't enjoy. Yes, I know. Come on, Erik!"

He opens the door and enters. He closes the door and looks expectantly at me.

I reach over my left shoulder and pull the shoulder harness across my chest and buckle it near my right hip and indicate he needs to do the same. From the back seat, Trystin helps by guiding the buckle into Erik's hand.

"Thank you, ma petite."

"No problem! Come on! Let's go!"

I slide the key into the ignition, close my door and turn the key. The engine turns over easily and gently rumbles. I fumble with my key chain, find the remote control and push the button. The garage door rumbles into motion. Erik (who has been watching me intently) starts, but says nothing. I release the emergency brake and place the gear shift into drive.

"Here we go!"

I pull out of the garage and drive down the driveway. I pause at the end of the drive, no traffic, so I make my turn and drive to the mall.

"Mom, you can't use you handicap parking placard anymore. Better put it away." Trystin cautions. "You'll get a ticket."

I laugh.

"I hardly ever used it in the first place, but you're right! And I've never been so happy to do something in my life. T, I would only get a ticket if I parked in a handicap space and they saw us all running around."

I pull the blue placard from its place around my rear view mirror and without taking my eyes from the road, flip open the center console, place it inside and flip the console closed. I find a parking place and pull in. I put the car back into park and engage the emergency brake.

"Erik, are you going to be all right going into a place with lots of people? There's lots of people and I know you aren't used to people."

"I am not concerned; no one will pay any attention to my face now. Besides, I have my two beautiful ladies to protect me."

I look at Trystin in the rear view mirror and ask, "So, T, ya think no one's going to give Erik a second glance?"

She rolls her eyes. "Ya right! We better not let him out of our sight cause he's gonna have all the girls in there will flirtin' with him. Erik, I guess you don't know it, but you're real cute."

"Cute?" The word sounds strange coming out of his mouth. He turns to me. "Is this going to be a problem for you?"

I see honest concern for me in his eyes and bite my bottom lip.

"No, dearest. I know I have nothing to fear from mall rats." I smile.

Together we walk into the mall and spend the next several hours shopping for clothing for all of us. I purchase a weeks worth of outfits, undergarments, shoes, accessories and sleepwear for each of us from a vintage clothing shop for our trip tonight. Just in case I think. As always, I stop and look in the window of the antique dealer's shop.

"Mom loves this shop. She collects bladed weapons. She's especially fond of Chinese swords, but Japanese run a close second."

"Nothing good in the window today. Should we stop and say hi to Su?"

"Yes! Yes!" Trystin jumps up and down happily. Su is her unofficial godmother and loves to shower presents on her goddaughter.

I glance at my watch; it reads 12:42, plenty of time.

"Erik, okay with you?"

"Actually, I would enjoy taking a look at some of the blades in there."

"Well, let's go. T, if Baba offers you candy, tell him "no, thank you.""

"Aw! Okay." She grumbles a little but smiles again as Erik holds the door open for us.

We enter the crowded shop. There are weapons of all shapes and sizes. There is even a stack of cannon balls piled carefully in one corner of the room.

"Su? Baba? Anyone home? Nihao!"

From the back of the shop, we hear a bright voice calling.

"Christine? Is that you? Is my little girl with you? T? Baba says to come back and talk to him while he works."

And a small raven hair woman enters the shop through the red brocade door hanging. She stops in shock at the sight of the three of us.

"Christine! You have a guest. Welcome, sir."

She gives Erik a small bow, which he elegantly returns. Her eyes widen and she sends me a quick questioning look before turning to Trystin. She opens her arms wide and the little girl runs to her and throws herself into the waiting arms. The two enthusiastically hug each other and chatter for a moment. Then Su points to the curtain and Trystin runs to the back room.

With a wave of her hand over her shoulder, "Bye, mom! I'm gonna go help Baba!"

"Remember, I said no candy!"

Trystin waves a hand as if to say don't worry about it Mom and is gone.

Su turns and intently studies the two of us for a long moment. At last, she speaks.

"So, you found each other." The words are a statement of fact, not a question.

I smile. Erik looks at me. I see the uncertainty in his eyes. He is not sure as to whether or not he should reply.

"Yes, Su. We found one another. You always told me that Marc was not "the one," but I never really believed you. I didn't think "the one" existed." I turn to Erik. "Ever since I met her she's been telling me that my soul mate was out there. She said he was out there, but I never believed her until yesterday. Su, this is Erik. Erik, this is Su Wei. Su, we need help. I need things you have in from the storeroom."

Su pauses her inspection of Erik at my mention of the storeroom and turns to me.

"So, this is serious then."

"I'm afraid so."

She turns her keen gaze on me and I see her eyebrows rise in surprise.

"Christine!" Her hand lifts and hesitates briefly before she touches my cheek. "You're different. No limp? No cane? Hmmm. Most interesting."

Her eyes become cloudy for a moment and then the clouds lift from her eyes and the sharp intellect enters them.

"Baba and I will not see you or Trystin again. I will miss the two of you. You have been family to us. You will take care of them." She says this last to Erik.

He bows to her and replies, "Most assuredly, Madame. I will watch over them and provide them with the best of care."

She nods apparently finding his answer satisfactory.

"Very well, my dear. Follow me."

She leads us through the red curtain and down a little hall. We stop before a barred and locked door. Su pulls a keychain from her pocket and unlocks the padlock. She nods to Erik and he removes the bar from the door. Su turns the knob and leans into the door with a small grunt and push, the door opens. She enters the room and pulls on a chain hanging just inside the door. The small room is flooded with yellow incandescent light. All types of weapons fill every nook, cranny and bit of wall space. Some ornate, some unadorned. My gaze sweeps around the room.

"Su, I need weapons made prior to 1870. Nothing modern. Swords, daggers, stars, sticks, butterflies. Do you have any bladed Chinese fans? Or slippers in my size with a blade in the toe?"

"Hmmm. That's a very specific date. Sorry, no slippers. You know where the fans are. All the fans are pre-1870 and in excellent condition. They look just like new. As to butterflies, well, the oldest ones I have were made mid-twentieth century, but the way you handle those no one would be able to see them to know they don't belong." She stops and smiles sadly at me. "Are you going to blood them yourself or do you mean to blood them."

"I don't know what will be necessary, so I will blood them. Blood calls to blood. We must feed the blades. Better to feed it now than to turn up dead."

She nods her head in agreement. And Erik gives me a shocked look.

"Have you killed before?"

"Oh no, at least nothing human. Not I. But, I do follow the old ways. My grandfather taught me about blades and blooding. We must hurry."

As explanation, I send Erik a memory of my grandfather teaching me how to hunt and to respect the lives of all animals. And of how when I was ten years old I received a compound bow for my birthday. I went out to hunt with it and proudly brought a jack rabbit home (my first kill.) My grandfather made skin and dress the meat. I never forgot that lesson and I never killed again. And I have been a vegetarian ever since.

Erik shakes his head.

Su grabs a knapsack from a hook on the wall and begins to fill it with small round leather cases, leather wrist bands with rows of sticks circling them, several sheathed daggers, a bandolier with throwing knives sheathed along its edge and what looks to Erik's eyes like metal claws.

I feel his curiosity and explain, "For climbing. Ninja use them."

My eyes scan the inventory as I quickly walk along the row of swords. A blue flash of light draws my eye. A Japanese wakasashi winks at me. I lift it and cautioning Erik and Su to stand back. I test the blade. The blade seems to me to sing as I sweep it through the air.

"Oh yes, this one. That will do for me. I will bring my ninjatu from home and that should be sufficient for me. Do you have a shoulder sheath?"

"Of course. Here, sir, I believe this blade calls to you."

She pulls down a Spanish sword with ornate hilt and guard. Erik looks at it and begins to demur until he takes the blade in his hand. He stands silent with sword at the ready. He whips the sword down and out to his side in salute and returns to the ready.

I nod.

Su finds him a belt and scabbard for his sword as well as a small dagger.

"I think these will suffice, Su. What do I owe you?"

"Nothing. These are my farewell gifts to you as well as my wedding presents."

Erik and I smile at one another.

"If you can, please bring Trystin back to visit sometimes. If you can. You can no longer live here, Christine. Your years and you no longer match. It will not go unnoticed here. Too many questions with no answers. And you, sir, we live in a world of paperwork. There is no record of you here. As I said too many questions with no answers." She hugs Erik who is surprised, but returns the gesture. Then she turns to me. She sighs. "I miss you already." We hug and for the first time, I realize Su is my only real friend here. There is no one else as close to me.

"I will miss you too. We will try to come back for a visit, but …"

"Yes, but …"

We silently walk out of the storeroom with Erik lugging the knapsack of lethal weapons. As we walk along the hall, Su bends and retrieves a pillow case from the floor. She takes the swords from me and places them inside the pillow case.

"Have you finished with your other errands here?"

"Yes. We saved the best for last."

She smiles. "Thank you. I think it best if you leave out the back. It will not do for mall security to become interested in the sacks you carry."

"You're not kidding. I had already thought of that when I parked. My car is near your back door. Besides, we must save Baba from Trystin."

We walk down the hall and through an arch into a large open workshop that appears barren after the clutter of the front shop. Sitting on a stool happily prattling away is Trystin. She sits next to a wiry thin old man who is repairing a broken sword hilt.

He pauses in his work and turns to me. "Nihao!"

"Nihao!" I return the greeting.

He bows to Erik, Erik returns the bow and the little man laughs his voice sounds like small silvery bells. He turns to Trystin and gives her a hug then helps her down from the stool. She gives him a slight bow and runs to Erik and slides her hand into his.

"Do jay, Su." I bow to her; she bows to me.

"Take care, my friend."

"You too. Both of you."

I turn and walk out the back door before I spill the threatening tears that burn my eyes. I feel Erik's hand on my shoulder and take comfort from his touch. We walk to the car and I press a button on the remote. My trunk pops open. Erik squeezes my shoulder. I turn to him.

"Magician." He teases.

"I hope so." I reply seriously.

We load our purchases into the trunk, ourselves into the car and then head home.

By the time we pull into the garage, the sun is visibly low in the sky.

"Mom, I'm hungry."

Erik looks at me and laughs. "Me, too!"

We take our bags into the house and I warn Trystin that she is not to mess with the weapons.

"I won't. I promise. Can I go watch some Disney channel before dinner?"

"Sure, go ahead. I'll call you when it's ready."

"Okay!" And she runs down the hall to her room.

"Disney channel?" Erik asks.

"Television. Children's entertainment."

"Oh …"

"Want to help?"

"Always."

"Well, the kitchen awaits us."

We make a fast dinner of salad, garlic bread, rigatoni marinara and meatballs with bell peppers (on the side.)

In silence we eat dinner, then quickly clear the table and wash the dirty dishes. Our rapidly approaching time of departure weighs heavily on Erik and me. I know that the time for my talk with Trystin has arrived.

I carry the bags from the mall into my bedroom and place them on the bed. Erik excuses himself and withdraws to the bathroom.

"T, I need to speak with you. It's important."

She climbs up onto the bed.

"What's up?"

"T, you realize that Erik is from the past, don't you? I mean, you know the movie he's in was 136 years ago? Right?"

She looks at me seriously and says, "Uh huh, you told me it was along time ago. That's why they use candles and horses and stuff."

"Yes. That's right. Well, you remember Madame Giry?"

"That's Meg's mom!"

"Yes, that's right. Well, last night I was there. I was at Erik's home and I visited with Madame Giry. Erik and I were trying to find a way for me to get home and have him be with me. We were afraid that we wouldn't be able to find each other again if Erik stayed there and I came home to get you. So, Madame Giry went to ask the gypsies for help. I waited for hours and she never came back. It turns out that Erik and I figured out how to get here together all by ourselves. That's how he got here this morning. Now, the problem is that, well, you know my voice that tells me things?"

"Yes, your voice, the one that's your power."

"Yes, right, my power." I smile gently at her and tousle her hair. "Well, my voice told me that the gypsies are going to hurt Madame Giry."

"Hurt her? You can't let them hurt her! She's Erik's friend. And, you have to watch out for your friends, right?"

"That's right. We don't plan on letting anyone hurt her. That's part of the reason we went to see Su today. I needed some things from her shop. Anyway, in order to help Madame Giry, Erik and I have to go back to his time. We're going this evening and I think it best if you come with us. I don't like the idea of leaving you here alone. I don't like the idea of bringing you to 19th century France either, but at least we will be together. First, I need to tell you this so listen. When we go, we will be taking you to Madame Giry's room and you have to stay there with the door locked. No wandering out. No exploring. She has a bed and you've had a long day, so I will put you to bed and wait for you to fall asleep. Then Erik and I must go and bring Madame back from the gypsies. Can you do this? Will you listen and obey my wishes? I need to know you are safe while I am out with Erik. They don't have cell phones, but we will bring the walkie-talkies with us. However, T, I am absolutely positive that the walkie-talkies will not work from inside the Madame's room because it is underground, so will you be okay? I need your pinky promise."

I look into eyes with my most serious, no-nonsense looks to be certain that she sees I mean what I say. I see her look at me with equally serious eyes.

"Don't worry about me, mom. I'll stay in the room and be good. I'm pretty tired anyway. Just make sure I have a nightlight, okay? Can we bring my Game Boy?"

"Definitely, a nightlight. And, yes, you may bring your Game Boy. We will not have any way of recharging it, but you can play with it for as long as it works. Now, we need to pack some things, just in case we can't find our way back here. Just the things you really need. You know, like your bears. Put everything you want take to with us on your bed. And remember, not too many things. I already have clothes for you to wear, so don't worry about packing them."

"Okay. I'll hurry. We can't let anything bad happen to Madame Giry. That would be terrible!"

She runs to her room and I can hear her going through her drawers and closets.

"Erik. I told her. Everything's all right. What an amazing child! She said we have to hurry because we can't let anything happen to Madame." I think to him.

I feel his relief and hear, "Ma chére cœur, I will be there in a moment. I will miss this room."

I laugh, but only for a moment as realize that I will probably miss that room too.

I swiftly move about my room choosing the belongings that will journey with me. I remove each of the drawers from my jewelry chest and empty the contents into a large velvet drawstring bag. For barter, I think as I tie the drawstring. I remove my compound bow case from the closet and place it on the bed. I open the bottom drawer of my armoire and take out my crossbow case. That joins the growing pile on the bed. I leave the bedroom and go to the den. I unlock the filing cabinet, which I store inside the closet, and in the back of the bottom drawer I take out two small metal boxes. I close and lock the cabinet. I pause and return to my desk and take a small silver picture frame with me as well.

I manage to pack all of the things I wish to bring into two carry-on bags and Trystin's things fit into her school backpack. The only things not packed are the weapons. I remove the swords from the pillow case and get a laundry bag out of my linen cabinet in the hall. I place the crossbow case, the knapsack full of weapons, a quiver of arrows and the swords in the bag and draw the string. I remove the bow from its case and sling it over my shoulder. I have the velvet drawstring pouch hidden beneath the blouse I changed into (a royal blue silk with long billowing sleeves and drop shoulders.) I tie the pouch to a string around my neck. Instead of my jeans, I now wear black cotton slacks that I have tucked into my black knee-high boots. These are special boots. Each boot has a sheath sown into the lining bearing a throwing knife.

One last look about the room.

"I'm ready."

"Me, too!" Trystin adds. She is now wearing her favorite mint green flannel nightgown and a pair of pink fuzzy slippers.

Erik enters the room with some things from the kitchen.

"Breakfast for Trystin."

He looks over his ladies. He smiles at Trystin and as he turns his gaze upon me, he smiles a little sadly.

"A deadly beauty. Let us hope we pack these weapons needlessly."

"Let us hope we are able to bring them with us and that we do not need them. As to the other … well, only if needs be. I love you, Erik."

"And I love you."

"It's time."

He nods his head in agreement. Each of us slings one backpack or a carry-on over each shoulder. I sling my bow and Erik slings the laundry bag over his shoulder. Erik and I stand facing each other with Trystin in between us. He has a hand on one shoulder and I have a hand on her other should. She looks up at us curiously. I turn my eyes to Erik's face and marvel (once again) at his beauty. I raise my eyes to his and feel how he completes me. We are not alone; we are one. I blink.


	16. Gypsies

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

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****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

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****Chapter Sixteen – Gypsies**

A clap of thunder rumbles.

I open my eyes, the three of us and (miraculously) all of our things are in Madame Giry's room. The candles are still lit, but we had left them that way.

"Madame!" Erik calls.

Silence. His eyes find mine. I nod towards Trystin. He lifts her and carries her to Madame's bed.

"I'll be right there, T."

"Don't worry. I'm fine. Erik's going to tell me a bedtime story."

I turn, "Oh really?"

"Yes, the one about the ugly duckling." He replies.

I think to him, "Who has now become a beautiful swan."

"Madame." He turns and performs a clumsy bow while holding the giggling girl in his arms.

"Monsieur. I will right with you, but first I must look for Madame."

I lower the bags and my bow to the floor and sit in a wooden rocking chair. I close my eyes and reach out with my mind, seeking Cecile Giry. I breathe in her essence from the little room about me. I fill my mind with images of her I borrow from Erik's memories. And again, I send out the tendrils of my mind seeking the woman who attempted to help us and had helped Erik when no one else would.

It seemed as if I would never find her. Paris was large and an unfamiliar to me. I could feel the minds of so many who harbored thoughts so strange to me. I quickly learned to close out those thoughts and singled in on Cecile Giry. And there, she is there. I recite the directions in my mind as I watch myself travel to her. Good! I can take us there now with my eyes closed. I see her sitting on the stump of a log next to an open fire. She appears uninjured, but I see a quiet fury in her eyes. There are two large dogs lying next to the fire. They appear asleep, but when I peered closer I could see their eyes glistening through small open slits. They were feigning sleep, but were in fact watching her closely. I could see no one else, but I counted three tents and two wagons. I moved next to her and tried to speak to her with what she calls the quiet talk.

After several attempts, she finally heard me.

"Madame. My apologies if I startle you, but we realized too late that you are in need of assistance. We had already crossed to my home. We have returned. We will be coming for you very soon." I pause as I feel her need to speak.

"Christine? Erik?" Her voice sounds puzzled. "I hear both of your voices speaking the same thing to me? Please, just one of you at a time. It echoes inside me and pains my head."

I think for a moment and realizes that the joining of our halves may have caused this.

"What to do?" I murmur. "What to do?"

I decide that visualizing a sound proof room from which to speak will work. Just as my walls protect me from crowds. I let Erik know via our bond what is happening and then warn him about what I plan to do.

"I'm going to try to build the room around just my voice, but I wanted to let you know that it may affect our bond. I'm not sure. I just wanted to let you know before I try it. It shouldn't take long. I love you."

"Love you, too. Don't be long." He replies.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply relaxing my entire being. I focus on the sound of my voice speaking inside my mind. I picture my voice becoming solid coalescing into words floating in space. I draw the words into a smaller and smaller space. I picture clear walls forming around my words, then a floor and lastly a ceiling. I can see my words, but not hear them. I can speak but my voice is limited to the confines of the little room. I pause and check my bond with Erik. He is there, in fact, he is all around me and I around he. I draw a mental breath and begin.

"Madame, is this better?"

"Christine? Much better, thank you. What happened?"

"Perhaps explanations are best left until you are home again?"

"You are right." She agrees. "I found the gypsies, but there is a small problem."

I can tell she is trying to make light of her situation, so I do not interrupt.

"The gypsies are acquainted with Erik, as you well know. Fortunately, it is a different clan than the one that held him captive all those years ago, but they still hold to one another first before outsiders. Now to the problem, I told them that Erik was half of a lost soul. That seemed to make them happy, as they know the torment that causes. However, when I told them of you, they were not pleased. They do not wish to help Erik, but in the cause of true love they are obligated by their beliefs. So, they hold me here in hopes that the two of you will lose one another by the time I return. For some reason the matriarch decided I can leave at midnight tonight. There are at least 8 gypsies, perhaps as many as a dozen here. They have two covered wagons and three open carts. I don't know how many or where there horses are, but they must be close by." Her voice trails off.

"Thank you for the information. Whatever you do, do not leave the camp. It's a trap. They plan to follow you and kill you on your way home. They're just waiting to be certain that Erik and I aren't going to make an appearance. But we will. And, we don't need their help anymore. So, as soon as Erik finishes telling my daughter the tale of the ugly duckling and she falls asleep, we will be on our way."

"Your daughter is with you? Wait. You need no help from the gypsies?" She sighs. "How did the two of you manage that?"

"It was something Erik said in response to a question my daughter asked him. We didn't try to join, we just did. That's why you heard both our voices. For we are one again and whole."

"Indeed," she says. "Well, then I await my rescue and my rescuers."

I gently release my link with her mind and disassemble the little room that imprisons my voice. I watch the pieces of the room float apart and then pop like soap bubbles. I speak.

"Beloved?"

"Ma chére cœur?"

I relay my conversation to him and I feel him stir angrily at the gypsy's duplicity. I walk over to Madame's bed and place my hand on his shoulder to calm him. Trystin lies bundled snugly under the multi-hued quilt. Her eyes lazily flicker in defiance of sleep one final time before closing in deep slumber. We wait for a few moments both of staring in happy silence at the sleeping child. Yes, she is asleep at last.

And then, as one, we turn and prepare ourselves for our encounter with the gypsies.

Erik opens the laundry bag and removes his sword. He adds the dagger to the belt and then buckles both around his waist. He arranges the positions of the weapons on the belt and practices drawing each blade a few times.

I walk to Madame's dresser and remove the pouch from around my neck. I dump the contents onto the dresser. Erik glances at the pile of sparkling jewelry and raises an eyebrow at me.

"Well, I couldn't very well bring money here, now could I?" I say in a low voice.

He shrugs his shoulder and nods in agreement.

I remove my smaller sword from the bag and fasten it across my back. Peering into the depths of the bag, I spy the two wrist bands and remove those as well. I have Erik tie one around each of my forearms. I check each stick and then double check the knots on the bands and am at last satisfied.

"What are those for?" Erik asks of my wrist bands.

In answer to his question, I quickly withdraw a stick from the band and throw it. The black stick flies and makes a whispering sound as it travels through the air. It announces its arrival at the target with a solid thump. Half of the four inch stick is imbedded into the back of Madame Giry's front door.

He walks to the door, looks at the stick, gives it a small tug and walks away shaking his head.

I look at Erik with feigned innocence. "Oops!"

I carefully rummage around in the bag and take out my bag of replacements and refill the empty space.

Lastly, I open one of the front pouches of my carry-on bag and remove both walkie-talkies. I leave one on a chair, which I place next to Madame's bed.

The other, I place inside my jewelry pouch and place it once more around my neck.

I unzip the carry-on and remove one of my recent purchases from the vintage clothing dealer. It is a black collarless cape lined in satin the same color as my royal blue shirt. I unroll and toss it around my shoulders. I tie the cape and then practice throwing the cape over the hilt of my sword with my right hand while I draw my sword in my left.

"Okay. I'm ready." I sheath my sword and pull my cloak back over my shoulder.

"I am as well. Lead the way, Christine."

There is something in his voice when he said my name that makes me turn to him. He is standing very near to me. I have forgotten how quickly he can move when he chooses. He holds something between his thumb and forefinger that twinkles in the candlelit room. My eyes focus and I realize it is a ring.

"Erik!" I gasp.

He has caught me completely by surprise. He takes my left hand and slides the ring onto my finger.

"It's beautiful and it fits perfectly. Where, when, how …"

At the mall. When Trystin asked you to take her to the rest room, I went into the jewelers. Trystin loaned me money from her Bahama money and she told me the type of ring you like. Do you like it?"

"Erik. It is perfect." I gaze at the ring. The band of yellow gold circles each contains a single sparkling diamond. I smile. "We call this an eternity ring."

"And that is how long I shall love you, ma chére cœur."

Careful of my weapons, Erik takes me in his arms and we kiss. I feel the place our soul had rejoined binding ever tighter together. The rift mending itself until the scar faded into nothingness. Our lips part and we gaze contentedly into one another's eyes. And then, we both give ourselves a little shake.

"Back to reality." I say.

He nods. We leave Madame Giry's room, pausing only to lock the door after us. I show Erik the map I have drawn. He looks at it and then nods.

"I am familiar with this camp. We should be able to reach it in 10 minutes. When we get to the camp, stay back from the campfire. Let me walk in first. I have an idea."

He pulls his mask from inside his cloak and I understand what he intends. I nod.

We walk swiftly and silently through the streets and back alleys of Paris. Erik still unused to being able to walk in the light unconsciously avoids walking too near the brightly lit boulevards. Probably just as well, I think, after all a woman wearing trousers and a sword across her back might attract some unwelcome attention.

I can feel that we are very near to Madame, so I allow Erik to draw ahead of me. I see him withdraw his mask and place it on his face. I stop and wait for his next move. He continues to walk straight down the alley. I can see a bright light at what I assume to be the end of the narrow lane. I build a wall of silence around me allowing no one in except Erik. I slow my breathing and listen. I can hear the low murmur of voices ahead. I can see Erik's silhouette walking ahead of me. I move to the right and walk along the side of the brick building which runs the length of the alley. I walk crouched over taking care not to make a sound. I increase my pace a little as Erik's long strides are taking him too far ahead. I slow again when I come within ten feet of him. I crouch lower and walk ever more carefully as I am almost hugging the side of the building and do not want to snag my cloak on a brick.

After what feels like an eternity, Erik reaches the end of the alley and (as I had guessed) it opens onto a grassy area bordered on one side by buildings and the other by trees. Lined up beneath the trees in a loose half circle are the wagons and carts. In between the wagons and the buildings in the middle of the grassy area is a campfire ringed with large stones. Looking terribly out of place is Madame, sitting near the fire atop a tree stump. Three rather unkempt men also sit near the fire, the dogs I had seen earlier are nowhere in sight. I warn Erik of the dogs. In the light of the fire, I can see the slight nod of his head. He suddenly seems to grow taller and strides fully into the light of the campfire and into the men's view.

They leap to their feet and call out.

"Phantom! Phantom!"

I hear the sound of men (and perhaps, a woman or two) swearing from within the wagons. I see the wagons jostle and bounce as their occupants escape their confines. At the last, a short, corpulent woman is helped down the steps of a wagon. I can see the power pouring from her. Unfortunately, I see it is a tainted power. It appears to me as a thick, brown smog. She is assisted to the fire by a younger nondescript woman. Her face seems to be flat and featureless. She, too, has power, but it is weaker than the other woman's is. Also, she has no control over it. I wince for her. She does not have the power. The power has her. Then I catch a glimpse of her face and understand. She is what people of this time call a Mongoloid and we call Down's syndrome. I hunker down and wait for Erik to reveal his plan.

He walks directly towards the group. He halts several feet from the fire and looks at the people on the other side of the fire.

He makes a brief bow to the corpulent woman (whom I believe to be the matriarch) then stands looking at each in turn. He turns slightly and addresses the matriarch.

"I am here to save your people the onerous task of escorting my dear friend home."

Several voices speak, but are unintelligible. The matriarch waves her hand and the talking ceases instantly. She begins to walk toward Erik, the younger woman at her side holding her elbow. She stands before Erik and he turns looking down at her.

"You are not welcome nor wanted here, demon! Be you gone before my people take you once more as a dog back to its owner." She spits on the ground just in front of Erik's boot.

I can feel Madame tense as she awaits Erik's explosive rage. But Erik remains unearthly still. Suddenly, Erik throws his head back and laughs. He laughs. In that laughter I find myself and realize he now has my ability to laugh at myself. I also realize that means I may have some of his temper. One thing at a time, I think.

All of the gypsies seemed stunned by his laughter, all, but the matriarch and the young woman. The matriarch stands before Erik staring up at him and then nods her head. She joins in Erik's laughter. After a moment, they stop and look at one another again.

"It appears ye have no need of help of any kind, demon. Take yon bitch and go. Love has won the day so our duty is negated. Go! Never more come this way or to my wagon again or ye will live to regret it." She turns and slowly trudges back to her wagon with the young woman still attending her.

The rest of the gypsies are snarling their disappointment, but are not making any moves against Madame or Erik. Erik walks to Madame and offers his hand. She takes it and he pulls her to her feet. He places an arm around her shoulder and quickly escorts her away. The two of them enter the alleyway and walk past me as if I were not there. I remain crouched in the shadows and watch the gypsies for a time. They watch after the two silhouettes for awhile and then seem to take no more notice. Life returns to normal in the camp. I wait another five minutes and see they are making no moves towards leaving the camp, so I turn and quietly make my way back down the alley. I meet Erik and Madame at the other end of the alley. Erik hugs me to him.

"Well?" He says.

"Nothing. Either they already have people out here or she really meant what she said. I felt no deceit in her words, but her power is tainted and difficult to read. I suggest caution, but I believe they intend no more harm. And I believe this because you wore your mask and because of the young woman attending the matriarch. The matriarch will not attack us because in a way this," I touch his mask, "makes you a relation to them."

Erik looks at me and I can feel his surprise. He shrugs.

"Let's go!"


	17. Breakfast in Bed

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

Chapter Seventeen – Breakfast in Bed**

We quickly make our way through the back streets and alleys to the Paris Opera House and enter through the transom window we had exited. With Erik in the lead, Madame in the middle and me walking in the rear, we quickly make our way to Madame's room. Erik unlocks and opens the door. He steps back to allow us ladies to enter first then enters the room quietly closing the door behind him.

Madame walking to her bed stands there gazing down at the sleeping Trystin.

"Her face is so difficult for me to read." I think to Erik.

"It will come to you in time. It was the same for me."

"I believe it is time for us to unmask ourselves for Madame, dearest."

"Indeed, ma chére cœur."

I move to the settee. I remove my cloak and drape it over the back of the settee. Then shed my weapons and store them away. I still have my two throwing knives hidden in my boots, but other than that I appear to be simply a woman. I sit on the settee and watch Erik. He has already returned the sword and dagger to the bag. He unties his cape and drapes it over mine. I look up into his eyes and silently ask a question. I smile and gently my hand reaches up and removes the mask from his face. I stand and place the mask down on the dresser with my jewelry. Then Erik takes my hand and we walk to Madame who is deep in thought gazing at the sleeping Trystin.

"Don't startle her." I think.

"How can we not?"

We stand about five feet away from her. Erik and I wrap an arm about each other's waist. I lean into him. My head rests comfortably against his chest. Erik clears his throat quietly. Roused from her thoughts, Madame starts slightly and turns to face us.

At first she seems not to notice Erik's (or my) transformation. Perhaps her reaction delayed by shock. Perhaps by joy. Then her hand flies to her mouth and she runs to us. She whispers rapidly in French and as I don't know that much French, I just stand there smiling and shaking my head. Erik attempts to interject a comment here, a syllable there without much success, so he stops and waits for her to finish. When she at last regains her composure, she takes each of us by the hand. She pauses for a moment to look down at my hand when she feels my ring. She leads us out of the room and into the corridor. She quietly closes the door and then turns to us.

"How did this happen?"

I can see she wants to touch Erik's face, but is afraid he will be angry. I tell Erik and he responds by gently taking her hand in his and touching it to his face. Her hand caresses the areas of his once-marred face. She then takes both her hands and begins an inspection of his hair.

"I cannot believe this. This is truly a miracle. This is how I have come to see you over the years, Erik. And, now, it is you!" She gushes and grabs him in a happy hug.

She stops as she notices me.

"Where is your cane?"

I wave a tired hand in the air and say, "Just a small bit of magic! Come! Let us go inside. Erik, you tell her our tale. I am too tired."

He glances at me with concern, but I shake my head.

"No, my dearest, do not worry. I am fine, just tired."

He scoops me up into his arms and the three of us go back inside. Erik sits on the settee and I lie down with my head resting on his thigh. He pulls his cloak from the back of the settee and covers me with it. I sigh. Madame sits in her rocking chair looking at the two of us. And suddenly I understand the look on her face. It is motherly love. She is looking at us as if we were her beloved children. I smile. I fall into a blissful and exhausted sleep my lullaby, the sound of Erik's voice telling our tale to Madame.

Erik gently shakes me awake.

"Morning already?"

"No, ma chére cœur. Still plenty of night left."

I sit up. "What's up?"

He looks up and then at me confused.

"I mean, you wish to tell me something?" I smile.

"Ah, yes, well, Madame has a suggestion."

"I thought it might be nicer for the two of you, you know, more comfortable, if you spent the night at Erik's place. I will watch over your daughter and bring her to you in the morning. You both need some sleep, so I suggest you sleep tonight. Yes?"

I see her gaze turns mostly to Erik, but I am included as well. Erik attempts a hang dog expression, but cannot maintain it for long. He grins sheepishly at her.

"Yes, Madame. We will sleep. I, too, am tired. We both have had perhaps two or three hours of sleep since this whole affair began."

"Exactly. Now, behave as the gentleman I brought you up to be and escort your lady home. I will see you in the morning."

We nod our agreement. I take a few pieces of clothing as well as a nightgown from the carry-on and turn to Erik.

"Ready."

He once again scoops me up into his arms. I protest quietly.

"I can walk, you know."

"Yes, you can, but I can also carry you. I know these corridors better than anyone else does and I am not blind. You, ma chére cœur, are very tired."

"Very well, my love! I defer to your years of experience. This time."

"Good night, Madame." We speak softly.

"Good night, my children."

With those words, Erik is off. With a speed that never ceases to amaze me, he heads downwards through the corridors and winding passageways. Down to the place he has called home for many years. I must have fallen asleep in his arms as I awaken to find he has removed my clothes and is lifting me to pull my nightgown over my head.

"Here, let me."

He hands the garment to me and I slip it on. I pull the gown down over my body as I slip beneath the blankets and back into unconsciousness. My dreams are blissful ones of Erik and me making love. I awake to find him asleep next to me. I snuggle closer to him and use his chest as my pillow. Again, I sleep. And again, I dream of my dearest Erik.

When once more I awaken, I find my body hot and I am writhing with desire. My body thrashing with need. My aching breasts are taut. My nipples stand rigid. My chest is burning. There is an emptiness that desperately requires filling. I sense Erik is awake. It is he who has stoked the fires of my lust. Realizing that I am fully awake, he dips a finger into the empty, aching place and finds it hot and wet. I am ready. He leans over me. His kisses begin at my neck and then travel slowly down. I gasp as he takes my nipple in his mouth and gently suckles it. His hands caress and gently knead the roundness of my flesh. His lips travel back up my neck and I turn to him. His mouth takes mine. Our mouths mesh and open. Our tongues seek and entwine. I reach out and let my hands explore his body. One of Erik's hands holds the back of my head. He pushes my mouth to his. He runs his tongue along my bottom lip. I pull him on top of me and wrap my legs around his waist. We continue kissing and soon are hips are rocking, bumping and grinding against one another. I groan. Erik moans. I reach down and guide him to the point of no return. He plunges into me and I cry out with the absolute pleasure of him being within me. Our bodies rock in the rhythm of love. Slowly at first, but quickly our speed builds as we race to the crescendo. And then, there it is. His body filling mine and my body accepting all he has to give. The sounds of our lovemaking join as a duet of passion, which slowly fades. Our bodies lie twitching in the aftermath of our passion. Spent (at least for the moment) and full.

"I love you, Christine."

"I love you, Erik."

There is wonder in our voices as we say those words to one another. Each of us knew in our secret heart of hearts that love existed, but as the years passed, Erik had given up hoping for love and I had made do. And now, here we are and here it is. I know I will never ever take it as granted, but strive to be worthy of it. Best of all, I know for certain Erik will do the same.

"Behold! The dreamer awakes." I murmur.

"What?" Erik mumbles.

"I cannot remember who wrote that or what they were writing about, but that is how I feel. I never wish to be asleep that way again."

He draws me into his arms and for the first time in my life, I feel completely safe and as cared for as I care. Together, we drift off to sleep again and float with one another. Together we travel slowly at first, but soon we gather speed and then we are flying through a starry sky … two bodies entwined, two hearts, two minds, one love.

And we fall to earth in an explosion of small arms and legs.

"What?" I cry groggily.

We come awake to the joyous sound of Trystin's giggling. She is climbing over me trying to wiggle her way into the tight space between us. Erik grabs the sheet and makes sure his nakedness is covered. Trystin has seen my nakedness many times and I feel no such concern until I hear Madame's voice coming from the steps leading to our bedchamber. I grab for my gown and quickly pull it over my head and thrust my arms through the sleeves. I pull it down and smooth it. Then grab the wriggling child and begin to tickle her in earnest. Erik leans over the side of the bed and scoops up his white ruffled shirt, throws it on and then joins in with our fun.

"Children!" A voice shouts.

The three of us freeze and look in the direction of the voice. It is Madame. She stands at the foot of our bed with her hands on her hips. Seeing she has our attention, she stands shaking her head at us, but I can see she is biting her lower lip to keep from laughing.

"Really, Erik, this is hardly proper behavior. The child should not see such things."

"Better this than fighting or … well, you know, the other." And he smiles at me.

I return his smile and take the squirming bundle of girl into my arms and shower kisses upon her upturned face.

"I can't think of a better thing to teach my child. That while we love each other, we have more than enough room in our hearts for her too. I love you, T."

"I love you too, mom. And Erik, I love you." She says seriously.

He gazes at her little face and sees that she expects an answer.

"And Trystin, I love you." He leans over and kisses her gently on the nose.

"Eek!" Her cry is feigned and she wipes frantically at her nose. "Acid kisses! Oh no! Acid kisses!"

I laugh, familiar with this particular silliness. However, Erik, not familiar, draws back his smile faltering. I notice his reaction and whisper to Trystin.

"He doesn't know that you're kidding and you've hurt his feelings. Better do something to make it better. Quick!" I nudge her.

She looks at Erik and sees the hurt confusion in his eyes. I see a light too old for seven come into her eyes.

"Erik, I'm sorry. I'm just teasing. I always tell my mom she has acid kisses because they eat me up with love. I was just saying that your kisses are just like my mom's."

He blinks and his mouth works silently.

As only Erik can move, he swiftly lifts her from my arms and cradles her in his. He rains kisses on the upturned face. The giggling and laughing continues. Yet another moment I place in my secret place to keep and treasure always.

"Excuse me, but we brought the two of you breakfast. Would you like to eat something or do you plan to stay in bed all day?" Inquires Madame.

"Breakfast in bed?" I ask everyone.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Trystin sings.

"Breakfast in bed?" It is a question from Erik, then he says, "Yes, why not? Breakfast in bed!"

"Well, I am not going to be a part of such goings on. Erik, I will be in my room when you and Christine wish to come up. I have a matter I would like to discuss with you."

"Very well. We will be up in an hour or two."

She disappears down the stairs.

"So, T, what is for breakfast?"

"We brought a basket with fruits and bread. There's marmalade and butter and Madame put a jug of coffee in too. But, she wouldn't let me have any. You know, mom, I like her. She's really special."

"Yes, she is." I agree. "Now, how about you lead the way to that basket?"

Erik sits up and says, "Well, if you ladies will turn your backs for a moment so I can make myself decent, I will fetch the basket while you ladies rest your dainty limbs."

Trystin giggles and turns her head away. I place my hand over her eyes and I do not turn away. I watch and thoroughly enjoy the view. He clambers out of bed and takes his pants from the floor and pulls them on. He loosely ties his shirt closed. Then with a wink at me, he descends the stairs to retrieve the basket. I release my hold on Trystin's eyes. She turns to me.

"Will I ever find my Erik?"

"I pray you do, sweetheart. I pray he finds you."

She throws her dainty arms about my neck and hugs me tightly.

"You're choking me! Loosen up, T! Really!!!" Her grip loosens.

"At least you know it's possible. Most people don't."

She considers this for a moment and then nods her head.

"Are we going to live here? Where will I go to school? I have to go to school?"

"I know you do, sweetheart. We will figure it out together all three of us."

I place my hand under her chin and gently turn her head to me.

"Remember, we still have to help Christine. Then we won't have anything else to think about but us being a family … and, yes, school is part of being a family. We will take care to it and you, my little dear." I beep her nose just as Erik returns with the basket.

"My Ladies, Breakfast is served!"

"Huzzah! I'm famished!"

"Yeah! I'm starving!!!"

Erik sets the basket on the table next to the music box. Opens the lid and withdraws a linen sheet. He spreads it on the bed in front of us, gently smoothing the edges. Then, he returns to the basket and delivers to us of its bounty. Placing the last of the bowls and plates on the makeshift table, Erik walks around the bed and sits on the edge near me. I turn to him.

"Yes?"

"Oh, nothing. It can wait." He says with lips and then adds within my mind. "When Trystin isn't around. I would like to ask you something."

I think back to him as I take a bite from an apple, "You can ask whatever you like. She can't hear us."

"Perhaps not, but I feel she may sense us speaking. And, after all, she is your daughter she may be able to hear us and simply has not told us yet."

"True. Well, then until later."

Then I speak to him aloud, "Erik, what would you like to eat?"

We eat and drink our fill. Trystin gets a tall glass of water and two glasses of wine for us. I take sips from Trystin's water and leave the wine untouched.

"Is there something wrong?"

"I don't drink alcohol … spirits. I never cared for the taste and saw no reason why I should learn to like it. Besides after Adrianna it seemed an insult to her memory for me to. As long as it's not to excess, I don't mind anyone else imbibing. I simply choose not to."

He reaches out his hand and pats my knee.

"Don't worry. I'm okay. How could I be otherwise with two such wonderful breakfast companions?"

At last, we can eat no more, so we pack up the basket and straighten up the bed.

Trystin asks if Erik can play the organ for her, so the two of them take off down the stairs leaving me alone in Erik's room. I go to the music box and wind it. I lie back down on the bed and drift off to sleep listening to the music box.


	18. A Dream and A Nightmare

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

Chapter Eighteen – A Dream and A Nightmare**

_I am in a place of darkness and the faint light I see is a dark blood red. I peer uselessly about me. I do not believe I have ever been here before. I see nothing familiar, yet I know this place and I am deathly afraid. I desperately try to find a way out, to make my way into the sunlight. But I am lost in the blood red light. I cast my arms about as I walk trying to feel something familiar, perhaps a wall, a window, a door? And then I notice the sound. I don't know if it was always here or if I simply didn't notice it before. It is a heavy, wet sound. A gurgling. I freeze. No, not gurgling. Breathing. The sound echoes all around me seeming to come from everywhere and no where. I panic and begin to run. No matter which way I run, the breathing becomes louder and louder. I am running in the dark with my hands covering my ears. The breathing stops. A scream pierces the darkness. I fall. The walls squeeze the breath from my lungs and I drown in the thick blood red light._

I sit up and realize I had been dreaming. I sit waiting for my breathing to slow and my heart to stop pounding in my chest. Where did that come from? I hadn't a nightmare since I was a child, except for the ones I had after Adrianna died. This dream is different. I know that place or … will know that place or ... knew that place? I shudder and hug myself. I feel sticky and sweaty and decide a swim will wash away the nightmare.

I think, "I wonder that Erik didn't sense my nightmare. Maybe he's distracted by T or maybe, this was no dream."

I choose a skirt of dark purple. It has a small bustle and therefore satisfies the requirements of dress for the time and doesn't hamper my ability to move to greatly. I choose a dove gray blouse with a minimum of ruffles and a pair of gray shoes.

I lay my clothes out on the bed and then go to the wardrobe for a towel. I take one off the shelf, close the door and head down the stairs. The lake is deepest near Erik's living room. Since I hadn't touched the bottom the only other time I went swimming, my best guess would be the it's probably about 10' deep (give or take.) (Oh! There aren't really any candelabras in the lake. The movie took liberties with that as well.) I see that Erik and Trystin are sitting next to each other on the bench in front of the organ. He is showing her how to play a scale. I move quietly so as not to disturb the lesson in progress and make my way to the edge of the lake. I sit on the edge and pull my nightgown up over my head and then fold it neatly. I place it behind me and then slide down into the water.

"Oh! It's colder than the other day!" I think to myself. But I soon become accustomed to the temperature. I silently glide through the water reveling in its silky embrace. I wash away the sweat and stickiness of the night before. I dive and surface, dive and surface, but all this I do silently. I realize I am trying to wash away my nightmare's hold on me. I want to drown the dream. And most of all, I do not want the dream to find Erik or Trystin.

"What? What did I just think? How can a dream find someone?" I muse. "Why is this bothering me so much? It was a dream and nothing more. Okay, so I know it wasn't just a dream. What can I do about it? I really don't want them to know. They need not to know. I'm sure of that. The only one I can speak to about it is Madame. Yes. That feels safe. I do not know why, but I feel certain there is a good reason I should not speak of it to Erik and I absolutely must not allow Trystin to hear that I had a nightmare much less hear the details of the dream. Well, to Madame's room I must go. But I must go alone."

I roll over onto my back and lie floating in the still water. I watch the reflections of the candle light bouncing up from the water and up onto the ceiling. It has almost has the appearance of a starry nighttime sky.

"I'm procrastinating." I let myself sink into the water, roll over and swim submerged to the rocky edge of the lake. I slip from the water and taking up the towel, I dry off my face. I wrap the towel about me then wring the water from my hair. I retrieve my gown and begin to climb the bedroom stairs. I see Erik and Trystin have moved from the organ to Erik's model of the opera's stage. They seem to be using the Erik's figurines to act out something, perhaps, an opera. I smile as I stop and watch for a moment.

"They both have someone to play with now." I observe silently.

I return to the bedroom. Instead of bothering with the skirt, I slip on a pair of black trousers and the burgundy blouson. I slip on my socks and then pull on my boots, checking my knives. Still there, good. I gather my hair up and wring out the water one more time. Then finger comb the mass. Surprisingly (at least to me it's surprising,) when I look into the mirror I think, "Not bad. Not too bad at all!"

I walk up to the mirror and push against the left side. It swings inwards. I reach up and retrieve a lit candle. Using my memory of my previous trip as guide (more than the pitiful candle light) I soon find myself outside Madame's door.

"That trip is considerably easier and faster now that I no longer need my cane."

I wrap softly on the door. After a moment the door opens a few inches and Madame peers out.

"May I come in? I believe the two of us need to speak in private."

"Yes, of course, my dear. Please come in." She opens the door and I once again enter her cozy room.

"Have a seat, my dear. Does Erik know you are here?" She glances at my clothes, but says nothing.

"No. He doesn't, but I have reason to keep this hidden from both of them. If they knew I believe it would endanger them."

"You are prescient? What have you seen?"

"If you mean do I see the future? No. My gifts are many and questionable. Sometimes I know the present and often I can see the past. I can hear the thoughts of others and worse, share their feelings. I can speak the quiet talk and have a pneumonic memory. I cannot see the future. And sometimes, I misinterpret the things my voice tells me. I'm not perfect and I'm no angel. Madame! I had a dream … no, a nightmare."

"When?" She breathes sharply.

"About an hour or so ago."

"Then it has begun and we must make our plans. You and your daughter's very existence depend on the actions we must now plan. And, my dear Erik's happiness as well. Please, my dear, tell me of your dream."

I quickly relay all of the details of the dream to her. I leave nothing out and I tell her of my certainty that even hearing I had the dream is dangerous for my daughter and I don't know why, so I caution her.

"Please make no mention of it to anyone. Not even to Erik. The dream is not dangerous to him, but I know it can hurt him. I don't know how. I just know that it can. It almost feels as if the dream is something alive."

"It is. It is, my dear. I had said that we needed to speak with one another, yes? Well, the matriarch spoke to me and not just about helping the two of you. She warned me that there were forces of nature gathering which would attempt to create a rift in time. The herald of the rift is the death of a mother and her unborn child. She said protect the mother and child and the rift would be thwarted." Her troubled eyes bored into mine. "Do you have any idea why this affects you and your child?"

"No, how can a child not yet born affect us?"

"A child not yet born, now." She places heavy emphasis on the last word.

"And although we are here. We, in actuality, have not been born yet. Somehow this child is a relation of mine. We must be directly descended from this child, yes?"

"Yes. Do you know your lineage?"

"I once read the family genealogy. Once. I must have been 16, maybe 17 years old. After the accident that claimed my mother's life, my youngest sister ended up with the documents. I tried to have her make me a copy, but she never did. The only ancestor I remember that was French was a Comte and Countess de Wolfe. I don't even remember their first names. My grandmother was quite fond of telling people about our being descendants of French royalty. That the lower case d indicated royalty."

"That is true. Then it is likely that the child upon whose birth your life depends is the Countess de Wolfe. You cannot remember her maiden name? I thought memory was one of your gifts?"

"It is, but only when I hear it. I do not have a photographic memory."

"That is unfortunate. However, based on how the fates have arranged these circumstances, I believe I know who the mother of this child is."

"Please, Madame! Who?"

"Christine."

I pause momentarily believing she is speaking my name and then I realize she is speaking the Mother's name.

"Christine Daae? Am I one of her descendants?" That is ironic. Eric could not help but be drawn to Christine Daae. Her blood runs in my veins. No wonder we were able to find each other. Without her, I would not exist." I hesitate. "Then that means I am descended of Raoul de Chagny as well."

"Perhaps, my dear. I am sorry if that is the case. However, you said that you had a plan to free her from her loveless marriage."

"What if my plan causes the rift?"

"No, it is the death of Christine and her unborn daughter that create the rift. You do realize what will happen to you and your daughter if these deaths are not prevented?"

"Yes, we will cease to exist and Erik will become as he was. A halved soul."

She nods her head in agreement.

"I will not allow my dear boy to suffer that loss. Not now that I have seen him truly happy. And I cannot allow either you or your child to cease. You are both very special. You both have become dear to me which seems strange since I have known you both but a short time." She shrugs. "That does not matter. Time does not matter. The ones we love are all that matter. And, I love Erik, you and Trystin! Besides my Meg, you are all the family I know. I am not about to lose my family."

"Madame, Christine miscarried the baby she conceived the night of the performance of Il Muto. Is this true? Or did she visit the gypsies and abort it?"

She lowers her gaze to the floor and remains silent.

"Madame! It is imperative that I know! I have the right to know! For if she did abort the child there is hope. If she did not, well, things become much more complicated."

"Yes, child, you do have the right to know, but I promised her …"

"And, by not answering, you have answered. Then, there is hope. The child she carried then would have survived if she had not ended the pregnancy. So, when she conceives again that child has equal chance of surviving. So, that means the threat to Christine and her baby come from something outside of her body. Not from within."

I sit in silence. The next question is one that I do not wish to ask for the answer I suspect to be the truth makes me burn with hatred. I breathe deeply to calm myself. Erik must not feel my rage.

"Madame, Cecile, do you believe Raoul would beat her?"

She seems startled by my use of her Christian name, but seems to take strength from it. She clears her throat.

"He beat her the day he first took her. She told me it excited him when she fought him, but then she scratched his face and he went wild. He took both sides of her, the places he bit her breasts bled and he broke her wrist. He used his fists on her face and we had to keep her out of sight for weeks. Not even stage makeup could hide the bruises on her face."

"And Erik knows all this?"

"No. She hid her face from him when he found her on the roof and while he knew Raoul had raped her. He does not know the depths to which Raoul's depravity plunged."

"Erik will want to kill him if he ever finds out."

"Yes. He will. He must never know. That is Christine's wish. She loves Erik as a brother and would be destroyed if he killed someone on her behalf."

"As would I, Madame. As would I be destroyed by his taking a life."

We sit in troubled silence, each nursing private fears.

"Before we left my time I remembered something about French history and I believe this event can be used to help free Christine from Raoul. First, what is the date today?"

"April 24th."

"Madame, the year?"

"Oh, pardonnez-moi today is April 24, 1871."

"Ah, my Adrianna's birthday." I pause and silently wish my dear dead daughter a happy birthday. I sigh and then resume. "So, it has begun already. Would you like to hear my idea?"

"Please …"

"You are aware of the current political turmoil involving the Communard Government?"

"No, my dear, I pay no attention to the world outside the opera house."

"Oh, well, on May 23rd, communist extremists under the direction of a man named, Dardelle set the Tuileries Palace on fire. They use accelerants to start the fire, you know, like petroleum, liquid tar and kerosene. It burns for two days before the Paris Fire brigade and the Africa Chasseurs are able to get the fire under control and put it out. Several other buildings and monuments are set fire on that day … I believe the Paris City Hall is one of them. The museum through lucky chance does not burn. I thought that perhaps during the melee we could spirit Christine away. I thought, and I realize how distasteful this sounds, that we could use the corpse of a victim of the current troubles who is of Christine's general size and appearance and have that corpse presented as Christine to Raoul. Christine would then be free to move on and Raoul would not look for her. After all, he has a grave to visit."

"I realize that my plan is very rough and needs a lot of work. We don't have much time to …"

I stop mid-sentence. While I know I am sitting on the settee facing Madame who is sitting in her rocking chair and listening to me speak; I am at the same time sitting in the sunlight surrounded by workmen feverishly hauling blocks, masons laying the blocks and a foreman barking orders. I suddenly stand. Blindness strikes, my hands flail to grasp something, anything solid but the disturbing double visions confuse me. I cry out and throw my hands up to shield myself as a workman walks through me.

I see Madame rush to me and faintly hear her asking me, "What is the matter, my dear?"

My words come from the same faraway place as hers, "Can't you see the workmen? They're all around us. And the sun … it's so bright!"

The vertigo begins and the workmen turn cartwheels about me. Madame, who stands before me, grasps my arm. I cannot feel her touch. It appears to me as if she is holding nothing in her hand. I look at my arm. It is there and yet, at the same time, not. I turn my eyes to Madame and (as usual when I have an attack) I cannot look at her directly as my eyes refuse to focus. The sunlight shines through Madame and I seem to see her eyes widen in fear as she gazes at the spot where I stand. Her hand flies to her mouth and I see the white of her teeth (so bright!) bite into the flesh of her hand. A workman brings another block next to me and drops it (so loud!) The pain in my head! I cannot stand, yet I cannot move. The dual sight at last overwhelms me and for a time, I know no more.

In the darkness, I hear whispering. Frightened voices whispering. What happened to me? Where am I? Who is whispering there in the dark? Almost at the same time, I think, "Trystin! Erik! Where's my baby? Was he real? Has the Meniere's at last exploded some part of my brain and I've gone insane? Or died? No, not dead. The residual pain and sickness of an attack remains. I try to sense Erik, but the fog still clings to my mind. I realize the cause of the darkness around me is that my eyes are closed. My lids feel so heavy. I wish for the strength to lift them. Again, I try to force the recalcitrant blinders from my eyes. The voices begin to take form.

"Look. I think she moved." Says one.

"Ma chére cœur? Please awaken." Says another.

"Mommy?" A voice says tentatively.

"Trystin?" I croak hoarsely.

"Mommy. Are you okay?"

"What happened?" I whisper.

"I dunno. I think you had an attack, only it was even worse than when you went on Space Mountain, 'cept you didn't throw up. Sorry."

"Drink of water?" I beg.

"She wants a drink of water."

"T, pills in purse. One orange. One red. Please?"

A female voice says, "Do not worry, little one. I will find them."

"Mommy, can I hug you?"

"Yes, my angel. Be gentle. All right?"

"Okay." Her voice is subdued. Through the blanket, I can feel her head gently come to rest on my thigh and her small arms carefully grasp my knee and my waist. She gives a soft pat instead of a hug.

"Don't worry, I'll get better."

I find my voice is growing stronger perhaps I can lift my eyelids now. I blink them open and find myself staring up at a bare white ceiling. I see the dream catcher hanging above me.

"Home. I'm home. It was a dream. Only a dream." I mutter and feel a wave of desolation sweep across my mind. "It couldn't be. It's so hard to think." I blink back tears.

As shadow falls across my face. I turn, very slowly, to face the maker of the shadow. Trystin stands and moves to the source of the shadow. Stopping directly in front of the shadow, I see a hand reach out of the darkness and gently place itself on Trystin's shoulder. A man steps forward out of the shadow. He is tall with dark hair and a pale face. His shape takes form before my eyes. As the last of the shadows fall away from him, I see … Erik.

I cannot speak. My heart has leapt from my chest into my throat. I am once more overwhelmed, but this time with pure joy.

"I thought I had dreamed you." I whisper.

"No, ma chére cœur. No dream." He smiles, but I see a sadness in that smile.

Madame stands in the doorway, holding a glass of water and my purse.

"I found your mother's things. Trystin, come. Please help me find the pills she needs."

"Yes, Madame."

Madame leaves the room and Trystin follows her.

"It is so hard to see through this fog. Erik, please take my hand." I weakly lift my hand from the bed. It feels as though it weighs a ton, but I manage to raise it.

He kneels next to the bed and takes my hand in both of his. He raises it to his lips and kisses it. At the touch of his lips, I see a beautiful golden light in my mind.

"How unusual … that light doesn't hurt."

The light inside my mind spreads as he once again touches his lips to my hand. I feel a wonderfully cool breeze blow away the clouds of fog from my sight. And there he is. I see him. The places he healed when we joined remain healed. Something had been able to prevent me from seeing him, but it had not been able to separate us.

"I was blind, but now I see."

He smiles.

"I love you."

We speak the words at the same time.

Madame and Trystin enter the room. Trystin holds the water glass and pills. She cautiously carries them to me. She places the glass on the nightstand.

"Open." She speaks simply and quietly.

I sigh. And carefully raising up on an elbow, I open my mouth. Trystin pops the two pills inside my mouth and taking the glass from the nightstand, hands it to me.

"Careful, it's full."

I drink the water, swallow the pills, hand the glass back and exhausted after this monumental effort, slump back down onto the pillow.

"I'm so tired. Would you mind if I took a little nap?"

"We demand it."

I barely register those words when I float away into a deep, dreamless sleep. I am floating, carried along on a wondrous fall wind wrapped within the golden light of Erik's love.

And then, Erik is ripped from me.

All is night as the nightmare descends ….


	19. Erik Speaks

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

Chapter Nineteen – Erik Speaks**

My beloved sleeps.

I am Erik Luis Anton Vuillard de Mornay. First born son of Jean-Paul Batiste du Comte de Mornay. I was born within the walls of the Château de Montmuran, which lies in Bretagne (more commonly known as Brittany) on November 13, 1834. Unfortunately, the circumstances of my conception landed me on the wrong side of the sheets at my birth … in words more gently formed my birth was not the product of a union blessed by the church. Yes, I am a bastard. Even more unfortunate, my mother, Genevieve, was a scullery maid. And the most unfortunate fact of my birth, I was delivered of my mother with a malformed face. Perhaps the first two counts against me would have been overlooked as my father sired no other male heirs. But the last count against me, my face, no one would overlook that. Or should I say, no one could look at it or love it. So, rather than admit that his seed had produced me, he washed his hands of me. My mother soon followed his suit and rid herself of me.

Ahh … old habits die hard! I should not presume to know why my mother did what she did. And I withdraw my judgment of her by saying I will never know for certain the reason my mother delivered me into the care of the gypsy clan that raised me. Perhaps, she was a gypsy or maybe they were the only ones who would take me. My mother could have drown me or any number of horrid acts all ending with my premature death, but she did not. For that small amount of pity I thank her.

My infancy and the better part of my childhood were spent with the gypsies. I cannot say that I lived with them. I traveled with them. An exhibit for any and all to see, providing they had the price of admission to their traveling carnival. Placed in a cage and put on display as "The Devil's Child." My face earned my keep and then some. Most of the clan kept clear of me as I could see them make the sign against the evil eye whenever they saw me. My first memories are of the women, so they must have cared for me as an infant, but when I grew older each member of the clan had to take turn feeding me and hauling my cage. It was a task no one wanted. A gypsy from another clan joined with us one day. He was a huge man with a florid face and a dirty mass of frizzy hair and beard. As the outsider, the clan decided my care was to be his responsibility. When he was told the news, he simply shrugged. I soon learned the reason why he seemed not to care about becoming my keeper. My newly appointed keeper was a sadist and a pedophile. He enjoyed beating me before the crowds, but most of all he loved taking away my one bit of happiness. I owned a toy monkey. It held in each hand a little cymbal. It was home-made, but it was mine. I would sit and play with that little monkey and I would tell myself that my mother had made it for me. I would tell myself that the gypsies had stolen me from her and that someday she would find me. She would see the toy she had made for her son and know I was her Erik. She would rescue me from the gypsies, take me home to live with her and we would live happily ever after.

Yes, that was what I would pretend. And, then one day, I was in fact rescued. Not by my mother, but by a woman-child who had come to the carnival. She had come not knowing I was held prisoner. She had come simply as a diversion with others from the ballet dormitories. And yet, when she saw my plight, she resolved to take action. She felt pity for me, yes, but I believe (and she later confirmed my belief) she also felt anger at the injustice of my treatment. So, she remained after the others had gone. She hid in the shadows and waited. When evening came, she stood as silent witness to my evening meal that usually consisted of yet another beating. And when my tormentor at last left me, she went to the bars of my cage and spoke kind words to me. I know not how, but she opened the door to my cage and she entered. She walked to me and sat next to me on the dirty straw. She spoke to me in her quiet way and the words were kind. Her words are the first kind words I ever remember anyone speaking to me. She gently untied my bound hands and feet. She helped me to rise to my feet and when I stumbled, she steadied me. She led me away from the only life I had ever known and gave me a new life. She gave me a life. I had good food, a bed and clean clothes. She gave me books and taught me to read and write. She taught me proper grammar and manners. All that I am I owe to her. And, sometimes, she would lead me up to one of the lower basements and I would hear music. And I would listen and I knew music as the most beautiful thing that could ever exist. Music bathed my wretched soul. It cleansed the wounds I had suffered and then wrapped them with its heavenly rapture. It was music that brought me to the path of healing. Sweet and sorrowful music that carried me one night to sit before the woman I love, to the other half of my soul.

So, now I sit and make record of these words of my past. I feel disconnected from the sad, angry child and I welcome it. I am a whole man now and not because my face is restored, but because my soul has been.

I have found that most people say one thing and do another. They speak words gentle to the ear yet insidious. They speak only the words they believe others expect of them and wish to hear. They speak these words yet have no intention of honoring them. I have never been able to use words in this way. I suppose whoever you are that is reading this is wondering so, why do I speak these words now? I utter them to you because of the oath I now take. I swear by music. I swear by love. I swear by the goodness of these things that the woman, now lying asleep in the next room, and her child, who is lying awake and frightened next to her, I swear to protect them for they are dearer to me than anything I can think of. More dear to me than even my own life. I swear I will allow no harm to come to them. And I swear to do all that I can to make right whatever has recently gone so wrong.

I do not swear lightly this oath. Nor, do I have full confidence in my ability to waylay the fates. And yet, the fates brought us together and the fates have bestowed upon us the chance to live happily ever after. So, towards this goal I have been laboring while my beloved sleeps. First, I unmercifully interrogated Madame until I had wrung from her every detail of her meeting with my Christine. She told me Christine had arrived alone at her door. She had thought this strange as she had been expecting the three of us. As Christine stood before her she said it was as if a crimson shadow hung over her. Madame told me of Christine's dream (which Christine had asked her not to do.) And of her rough plan to save Christine Daae. Madame told me of my beloved's words about events she believed were about to unfold in Paris. And I remembered her mentioning something of that nature to me as well. The next remark Madame relayed to me caused me to stiffen and sit full upright in attention for I knew it pointed the way to the source of our troubles. Madame told me Christine had asked her the date. The answer she gave Christine was April 24, 1871. I thanked Madame and apologized if I had been unduly rough in my questioning. She smiled and assured me that no apologies were necessary. I gently sent her away to watch over my ladies.

Christine, she who is my dearest love, and I found one another … that is to say, I found myself seated on the floor of her den on October 7, 1870. To my mind (and hers) that was but four days ago! I know this to be fact for Christine herself made record of the date on the day following our meeting when she penned her missive while seated at my desk. The missive I retrieved from under the pillows of my bed. And have carried in a pouch around my neck ever since. So, Madame scurried away to the bedroom. I, on the other hand, went in earnest search for my dear heart's library. I knew I had to learn about the world in which my dear Christine lives. After spending the last several hours reading, I believe that I am beginning to understand.

Trystin provided me another piece of this puzzle. She told me her mother has suffered these "attacks" for most of her life. The first one came on her when she was a girl of twelve. The number twelve felt as if it carried some personal significance to me, so I made note of this bit of information.

When I returned later to inquire of Madame about the final moments of her meeting with Christine, she replied in a manner of strangeness I have never seen in her before. She told me Christine's eyes changed and then made the sign against the evil eye. I am still astonished. She who rescued me and never thought me to be a demon! When I pressed her for details, she refused to discuss Christine's eyes with me any further. I could plainly see she regretted telling me. Whatever she saw had terrified her. I apologized for my insistence and allowed her once again to make her escape.

Returning to the den, I pause in the doorway and gaze at the couch. The place I first laid eyes on my dear sweet Christine. In my mind's eye, I can see her there and feel my love anew. I savor the sweetness of it, but just for a moment. I must not be distracted too long no matter how strong the urge, so forcing myself back into the present, I return to the big rosewood desk that lies in the back of the room. It is here that I have spread out the volumes of history from which I have learned much and guessed more. I take my seat at the desk and as if she heard my silent summons, Trystin enters the room.

"Just the person I wish to see." I say to her.

"Really?" She replies. She comes around the desk and climbs onto my lap. I wrap my arms about her waist and give her a gentle hug.

"Yes, ma petite. You are. I need to ask you about your mother's attacks. You told me that she has been having them since she was 12 years old."

"Yep. That's what she told me. She's gone to what seems like a million doctors and had even more tests. No one has ever been able to tell her what is wrong with her. It makes me sad and scared when she has an attack, especially since Dad died. Ever since Dad died, she doesn't rest when she has an attack. She just keeps going no matter how ill she feels. She's been having a lot of attacks lately. I think it's 'cause she doesn't get enough sleep. I know it's because of me that she doesn't rest. I wish she would, but she just keeps going and it makes the attack last longer. She never complains. I asked her once why she doesn't and she said it wouldn't make them any easier, so what would be the point of complaining?"

"Your mother pushes herself because she loves you. The attacks are not your fault, Trystin." I tell her this for two reasons: one, it is the truth and two, to alleviate her guilt.

"I just wish … I wish she never has to have another one … ever!"

"That is exactly what I am trying to do. I think the thing that is causing your mother's attacks is not a sickness of her body or of her mind. I think … I do not know if you will understand this. I am barely beginning to understand it myself. Hmmm … You and your mother live here, yes?"

She nods agreement.

"And I live beneath the opera house in Paris, yes?"

Another nod.

"That is true, but I have been reading your mother's books. Her history books. While I am not the most well-read of men, I am aware of the daily events taking place in my world. I do read newspapers. I feel most fortunate to say that the world I lay claim to as mine is a happy one and my country is at peace. Our ruler, Napoleon III seems to care for the middle and lower classes. He has spent the last 12 years rebuilding Paris. He raised the money by taxing the rich. If I had been able to live above ground, I most likely would have found life very agreeable."

"This is very much at odds with your mother's books. Her books state that France was involved in a hopeless war with Prussia. Napoleon III, while still promoting living conditions for the middle and lower classes, was a failure in his military ventures. His reign ended with his capture at the Battle of Sedan on September 2, 1870. Shortly thereafter, the siege of Paris began on September 19, 1870 and ended on January 28, 1871. From things I have read, it must have been a frightening time in which to live. People starving within the city limits of Paris. I cannot even imagine so horrific a thing!

The most important difference between my world and yours concerns the opera house itself. In my world, construction of the opera house finished in 1829. The opera house of your world opened its door for its premier production in 1875.

So, Trystin, we know time separates my world from yours, but there is something else which separates my world from yours … history. The events of my world and yours are not the same."

"Oh! Oh! My mom told me about something like this … she said all things are probable, but not all things are possible. She told how some people say that there are … hmmm … probabilities. She told me to imagine my life is a long piece of string. Each moment I live, I move forward along the string, always moving straight ahead, in one direction. Then I have to imagine that all around my string are lots of other strings. None of them ever touch. She said people live their lives along those other strings just as we do on ours. She said as many different things as I can imagine can happen on those other strings. Like on this string, mom and I watched the movie. On another string, Mom and I don't."

"Hmmm … alternate probabilities. That is a part of it. Yes, that feels right. But, still it is only a part of the problem. I believe while I exist in alternate probabilities, every single "me" possesses its own soul. All alternates have their own souls. If … no, I cannot doubt the evidence of my own experience … you, Trystin, do not share a soul with anyone other than yourself. Nor does Madame. Perhaps, your mother and I being halves of the same soul and existing in different probabilities have caused your mother's problems."

I pause. The number 12 comes into my mind. Why is this significant?

"Of course," I say aloud. I laugh and hug Trystin again.

"Remember the number 12?"

She nods.

"When first I met your mother, how old was she?"

"That's easy. She's 48. She'll be 49 on November 4th."

"Trystin, I am 36 and will be 37 on November 13th. What is the age difference? What is the difference between 48 and 36?"

"That's easy!" She pauses and as her mouth opens to answer, "Oh, wow! It's twelve!"

"Your mother's attacks began as soon as I was born."

I lifted Trystin from my lap and stood up. I closed the books scattered about the desk and stacked them into a pile. I lift them into my arms.

"Want to help me put these away?"

"Of course! I'm good at putting things in ABC order."

I cannot help but smile at her answer.

"Lead the way, ma petite ange."

We file the books away and I can see that Trystin is thinking about something.

"What is it? What are you thinking about?"

"Oh, I was just thinking that the movie is like a probability. Raoul is the good guy and you kill people. And then in your world, Raoul is bad and you are good. And in my world none of you are real people. All of you are just pretend people in a movie."

"Trystin, that's it!"

I pick her up and swing her about me.

"What? What is?"

That's why I can be either here or in my world and not have any problems. I don't really exist here, so my being here does not affect anyone. However, the reason your mother has her attacks is that she exists here and her ancestors exist in my world, so that means her existence in my world depends on whether or not Christine Daae's child is born. She exists in both worlds and truly belongs to neither. Trystin, Madame said something to me about your mother. She said that when the attack came something happened to your mother's eyes. Do you know anything about this?"

"Oh!" She shivers. "Mom's eyes. Yes. Anyone who has seen her when she has an attack says something about it. She knows her eyes are disturbing to people and tries to hide them. She doesn't know why, but I do. I've seen them."

She turns away from me, but I catch the look of indescribable sadness on her young face before she does.

"If it troubles you so, you need not speak of it, ma petite."

"No, I need to. I've needed to talk about it for a long time, but I never had anyone that I could talk to about it. I couldn't talk to my dad about it 'cause I was little and didn't know the words to talk about it. I can't talk to my mom 'cause she doesn't know what I see. I tried to talk to my grandpa about it. I know he saw my mom's eyes once when she went to his office, but he wouldn't talk to me. I think her eyes frightened him. Anyway, he wouldn't talk about it either. I know you haven't seen them, but I think you'll understand."

She walks away from me and back to the den where she sits on the couch. Her mother's cane leans against the arm of the couch. She picks it up and hugs it tight.

"When I look into her eyes I see her eyes." She takes a deep breathe and continues. "But there is more and less. I can see three layers of eyes. I see her normal eyes; eyes that are blank and white; and the worst, are the eyes of black nothingness. If you looked into just that blackness, I think you would never be able to stop looking." Her voice trails off and she looks at me bleakly.

"Is my mom going to die?"

"No!"

I stop as I hear the anger and fear in my voice. I remind myself that she is a seven year old and has already lost one parent. I calm myself before I continue.

"No, Trystin. We are not going to let that happen. Are we?"

"No. We deserve to be happy, but I'm afraid."

She places the cane back, stands and runs to me throwing her arms about my waist. I feel clumsy as I attempt to comfort her, but oddly enough I feel strength returning to me as we hold one another. I look down at her and gently stroke her cheek. She lifts her face and our eyes meet.

"Trystin, it is all right to be afraid, but she is not going to die. Let's go and sit with her for awhile. I need to rest and think about what we can do. We know what is happening. We just need to decide what to do about it. The problem is half solved. We are much better off than when we first tumbled back into your world. Let's go, little angel."

She looks deeply into my eyes for a moment searching my face. I realizes after a moment that she is looking for a lie. Seeing none, she smiles and nods.

"Okay. You can lie down next to mom and I'm going to play a game on my computer."

"There are so many things about your world that I would love to explore, but sadly I have no time. Go play, little angel. I will fetch you should your mother awaken. Now, I will rest and consider what needs to be done."

She scampers down the hall and glides through the doorway into her bedroom.

In truth, I am tired and I do need rest, but I have learned so much in the last few hours that my mind is awash with it. I know I will not be able to sleep until I sort it out. Perhaps, the key is the family de Wolfe. My Christine is a distant relative of the family de Wolfe. And Christine Daae is somehow connected to them as well. The key is to discover the connection. Once we learn the connection, knowing what to do will become clear.

"I need to think …"

Shaking my head, I enter the bedroom. Madame sits in a plain wooden rocking chair in the corner of the room. She sits with her head rolled to the side leaning on her shoulder. She sleeps. I bend and unbuckle my boots. Pulling them from my feet, I quietly place them on the floor next to the bed. I remove my coat and vest and hang them on the hook on the back of the bedroom door. Slowly and carefully I join my ma chére cœur on the bed. She groans at the slight movement of the bed then settles back to sleep. I gaze at her still form and frown. Her skin still has a ghastly greenish cast and I can see a slight shine of perspiration on her forehead, but when I test her forehead with the back of my hand, her head is cool.

That at least is an improvement. When we first arrived here she was on fire and her cheeks were a dark crimson red with fever as well as having the over-all olive green hue to her skin.

"I need to think. All right! Think!" I determine to think about all I have learned, but slip off to sleep instead.

I awaken in a dark room.

"Now where am I?" I mutter.

I hear a muffled moan in response to my movement on the bed.

"Christine? Ma chére cœur?" I whisper.

"Hmm? Erik? Where am I? Where's T?" She begins to sit and I hear a sharp intake of breath, a soft moan and then a long slow exhale.

"Erik? Is that you?" I can barely hear her voice and remembering Trystin's warning about light and sound being painful to her mother, I match her whisper.

"Yes, ma chére cœur. It is I. As to where we are, I am not certain as I just awoke. Where we were when I fell asleep was in your bedroom. Trystin was going to play a game and I believe Madame was sleeping in the rocking chair in the corner. I am going to get up. I will attempt not to jostle you too much. And I will make certain everyone is where they are supposed to be."

"Okay." Her voice is weak, tired and emotionless.

"She sounds like a ghost." The thought crosses my mind and I immediately banish it. "She's worn from the sickness. That is all. Nothing more than that." I lie unconvincingly to myself. The whisper of fear which has been lurking in the dark corners of my mind begins speak more clearly as it steps from the shadows.

I move so very carefully off the bed. My care earns me only one small gasp from my beloved. As soon as I stand I know we are still in Christine's bedroom as I see the amber light of her clock. It reads 3:19 a.m.

"We are in your bedroom. Your clock reads 3:19 a.m. I will check on Trystin and Madame. I will return shortly."

"Thank you."

Looking into Trystin's room, I cannot tell if she is in her bed. I walk to her bed and see that she is indeed sleeping. She has kicked the comforter off and is curled into a ball. I raise her blankets over her and kiss her forehead.

"Sleep well, little angel."

I find Madame asleep on the den couch, so I return to Christine's room.

"Christine?"

"Yes, Erik."

Her voice is stronger, but strained and strange.

"Trystin is fine. She is asleep in her bed. And Madame is asleep on the couch in your den."

"Oh. Okay."

Her voice is distant, detached. Hers are the words spoken to a polite stranger, not one's lover. She is polite, yet cold.

"Ma chére cœur, where are you? I need you! Trystin needs you! We love you! Don't leave us. We need you to try. Please? Christine, tell me where you are!"

The distance in her voice is unnerving me. My hands reach before me and find the rocker in the darkness. I sit and wait for her answer.

"It's dark here. I've been searching for a way out, for a door, but I can't find it. Each time I see light and think it's a way out, I find it's a mirror reflecting light from somewhere else. Why is it so dark? I can barely hear you. I cannot find you, Erik. My dearest, why do you hide from me? I cannot feel the touch of your mind. I have lost my way, Erik. I cannot long protect her. Then, she too will lose her way and become as I am. Lost in time. I know it is my mind that is lost and you are near to me. I trust your love for me and know you would never desert me. If you can hear me, Erik, will you hold me, please? I am so cold."

"Of course, ma chére cœur." I gently take her in my arms. Her body is limp and cold. "Christine!"

"I am here still. Although, I fear death will soon find me and take me. She, too, will be taken. My poor Erik will be alone once more! Such a shame. To find one another and lose each other so soon. I was wrong. There are no happy endings." Her voice goes silent.

I release her from my embrace and turn on the bedside lamp. She lies just as I dropped her. Her eyes open wide and blankly staring.

"No, Christine!" I place my head to her chest and listen. I breathe again. Her heart is beating. She lives.

"Christine?"

She remains motionless with eyes wide open. I carefully close her eyes. It would be cruel to allow Trystin to see her that way. It is a blade in my heart as well.

"Christine, I love you."

Kneeling at the bedside, I reach for her mind. There is cold dark stone in that corner of our soul and it is thick with foggy shadows.

I return to the rocker to sit and ponder her words. Lost in time? Whom is she protecting? The answer is simple and frightening … Trystin, of course.

"God!" The anguished cry escapes my lips.


	20. Fading

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

Chapter Twenty – Fading**

She is fading away from me. I can feel her slipping from my mind. Her essence contracting into an orb of foggy blackness. Soon she will not be able to shield her daughter and then the same will happen to Trystin. Unless. Her ancestry must be assured. Christine Daae gives birth to … whom?

I think of my beloved's family tree. Christine's father is easy to eliminate from my investigation. He is of Italian descent on both sides.

Christine's maternal lineage is another thing all together. It branches off in many directions. Her maternal grandfather's line originates in the principality of Luxemburg, which allows me to eliminate his line as well.

I turn my interest to her maternal great-grandparents. Both sides of the paternal strain originate in England; and the maternal … the maternal … yes, she is the unknown. Emma Smith! She is the broken link in the chain. I cannot find any record naming the parents of Christine's great-grandmother. Nothing. Emma seems to have sprung from no one. My Christine's great-grandmother seems to be the key. She must be the child whose birth is threatened. Born in 1885. Hmm. Christine Daae would be 31, a dangerous age to give birth in my world. I must borrow some of my beloved's books. I will need clothes and money. I will leave Madame here to watch over my ladies.

I call upon a god that in the past I have often cursed and pray. I beg him to help me find my way there and back again.

My preparations take very little time. I dress, gather the needed books, retrieve my money belt from the laundry bag and one of Christine's small metal boxes. Inside this box is a set of dueling pistols and bullets. Lastly, I return to Christine's room and cut a lock of her hair and then do the same to Trystin. I tie the locks together with the same black ribbon Christine had used to tie her missive of our first day together. These things will keep us bound together. These will help me find them again. I hope.

The tools of salvation lie in a small pile on the living room floor. I pick up one of the black bags and shake out its contents. Trystin and Christine's clothing fall to the floor. The bag is packed full now with books and the metal box. I strap on the money belt. Ready.

Madame walks into the room.

"So, did you intend on telling me that you are leaving us?"

"No. I was hopeful that things would be put right and I would return before you awoke. Not very hopeful, but I must hope. Christine will not awaken again unless we prevent whatever event is threatening her. She lies near death and Trystin will soon follow if the course of events is not set on the proper path once more."

Madame's eyes widen and tears well. "No, Erik! Both of them?"

"The daughter cannot exist without the mother and the mother cannot exist without Christine Daae. I believe Christine is her great-great-grandmother. The child upon whose birth their lives depend is Emma Smith. The identity of the father is unknown. I know not if the father is Raoul de Chagny or another. The only facts I have are the date of birth for Emma Smith, June 7, 1885 and the recorded place of her birth – the city of Vienna, in Fairfax County, in the state of Virginia in the United States of America."

"Erik, you do realize you need to find Christine Daae? She could be in France or she could be in America. How will you find her? Also, do you need to make certain she conceives or survives the birth? How can you know?"

"Madame, we are still one soul. She protects me now as well as her child. But, she is still one with me. I will use this to find my way. The answer lies within the memory of her blood. The blade calls to blood just as blood calls to blood. Madame, I will find my way because I must."

"Oh, Erik, I am so sorry. I will pray for you … all of you."

He walks to the woman he has thought of as older sister for most of his life and for the first time, he holds her in an embrace and then places a kiss upon her brow.

"Thank you. I cannot stay and wait for the end. I must go now. I must take action! I believe the best doorway is in the den. It is where I first appeared and where Christine first traveled to our world. I will begin my journey there. Please do not enter that room or allow anyone to enter that room once I close the door. It may not be important, but I would prefer that the room remain undisturbed as it may strengthen my link to this place. And anything that helps me return here, well …"

I shrug my shoulders.

"I will do as you wish, Erik. Godspeed!"

For a moment I struggle with the desire to return to Christine one more time, but instead I turn and walk to the den. The room is now as familiar to me as my own home. I enter the room and close the door behind me. I twist the lock on the door. I shoulder the bag and walk to the couch. I sit and place the bag on my lap. I reach into my coat pocket and remove Christine's engagement ring. I slide the ring onto the pinkie finger of my right hand. I allow the light from the Tiffany table lamp to sparkle and bounce off the ring. While I am well-versed in the ways of hypnotism, this is the first time I have attempted to hypnotize myself.

I focus on the glitter and sparkle bouncing within the center stone. An image of the last time I saw Christine forms in my mind. Her sweet, sad smile.

I whisper, "Help us, please!"

The familiar flash of light and clap of thunder resounds.

This time without the comfort of my beloved's eyes gazing into mine. The crossing burns our soul, but she is still with me and I take comfort in that.


	21. Christine de Chagny

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Twenty-One - Christine de Chagny**

Opening my eyes, I find that I am sitting in a private sleeper compartment of a train. The window shade is lowered and I am alone. Around me is evidence that I am not the only person traveling in this compartment. The belongings around me are very feminine.

A sudden thought crosses my mind, which causes me to stand and cross the small room. There is a mirror mounted on the back of the compartment entry door. I hesitate and then step before the mirror. I breathe a sigh of relief. I am still whole.

I return to my seat and await the owner of the belongings about me to return. My gaze darts about and I notice my bag is on the floor. I move it under my seat as its zipper proclaims that it does not belong here.

Fortunately, my bag has just been safely hidden when the compartment door slides open and a dark-haired woman enters. At first she does not notice me, but then as her eyes become accustomed to the darkened compartment she sees a dark shape in the corner. She gasps and turns to open the door.

"Flattering child you shall know me. See why in shadow I hide." I sing the old refrain as I stand and move out of the deep shadows.

"Erik?" She stands frozen to the spot with one hand on the doorknob, the other covering her mouth.

I stand before her and see wonder in her eyes.

"Erik." She breathes. "It is you. And you are …"

Her voice trails off embarrassed and confused.

"Indeed, I am." I now take the time to look at Christine. Her face is still beautiful, but the last 15 years have been hard on her. Gone is the innocent wonder of her eyes. My gaze lowers and I almost sigh aloud with relief. She is visibly pregnant. I whisper my thanks to whichever deity aided me. I take her hand in mine and help her take a seat.

"You should rest your feet, child."

She laughs. "No, Erik. It is you. You look as a child to me. And you are healed. How wonderful! I have often thought of you and hoped you were well." She paused. "Erik, how did you find me? No one knows where I am."

"How did I know? Well, I didn't know where you were, but I did know you were in serious trouble. I have come to help you. And, I will be honest with you, by helping you, Christine, I help myself. Your life and the life of the child you carry are in danger. I am here to make certain that no harm comes to you or the child."

Her face becomes flushed and her eyes more troubled. She stands and walks away from me and stops near the door.

"Then, Erik, it may be necessary for you to protect the child from me."

She places a hand to her stomach and frowns. She turns her head away from me.

"I know it is not the child's fault. How could it be? But, if I give birth to another girl, I know Raoul will kill both of us. We have six daughters and no sons. He demands a son of me and thus far, I have been delivered of six girls. I am certain this child is a daughter." She sighs and turns her eyes to mine. The weight of all of the sorrowful years clearly visible on her face and her eyes fill with tears.

"I do not wish to die yet, Erik." She pleads.

"And you shall not, my friend." I walk to her and take her by the hand. I lead her to her seat and help her sit.

"Erik," she seems to see me for the first time, "you have changed in more than the wholeness of your face. What has happened to you? Never before have I felt such … I am unable to put it to words. You feel … your eyes … the way you hold yourself … your gait … you … you have found love?"

I kneel before her, still holding her hand, I look into her eyes.

"Yes, Christine. I have."

She looks at my hands and a soft sad smile plays across her lips.

"And she loves you in return?"

"Yes." I reply simply, then, "She is the one who has healed me both within and without. We healed one another."

Still not meeting my gaze, she nods.

"I have lost hope of love and had begun to think it a fairy tale. Now, you restore my faith." She lifts her eyes to mine. "Do you think I can ever be free of him? Truly free?"

"I know not, Christine. I am here to free you from him, if that is your choice. Or, I can spirit away your child and allow you this respite from Raoul's wrath. Lastly, I will do nothing if that is your wish. Your future is for you to decide. If you can leave your children, the reminders of a loveless marriage, perhaps. If you wish to leave Raoul, I can make arrangements to assist you. I have the means at my disposal to assure that the financial needs of your life will be met. However, I must tell you that my future and that of the woman I love. Our future together depends upon you and the life of your unborn child, so I cannot give consul to you in this matter. I cannot be impartial as so much of my future depends upon what you now decide. And it is because of our friendship that I feel compelled to give you this warning."

She rises once more and begins to pace the confines of the compartment. Silently she moves back and forth, her face more a mask than the one I used. Her brow furrowed and her arms unconsciously and protectively holding the mound of her belly. I allow her this time, waiting for the torrent of questions I am certain will come. After an indeterminable time where I could scarcely breathe, she ceases her pacing and turns to confront me with hands on hips.

"If you wish to give aid to me, then you must make yourself clearer. I need to know how it is that I and this child," she waves a hand at her stomach, "can affect you and your lady. How can this be? Erik, you must tell me all before I can decide what to do."

"I pray that you allow me to presume upon our past good friendship when I tell you this … you may not believe what I tell you, but I swear all I tell you now is true. Will you grant me leave to fully tell my tale before you halt me with words of doubt?" I study her carefully and wait.

"Erik, you speak so strangely. Of course you may speak. Did I not just ask you to do so? Please, sir, speak to me as you used to do. Please tell me your story and I will attend to whether or no I will think it a jest when the tale is done."

"Ah, Christine, thank you. But, if I were to hear this tale, I myself would lay doubt to it. Nevertheless, it is true. All of what I now tell you is true. I swear it, Lady."

She nods and motions for me to continue.

"It is true that I have found love. A lady as such as I could never have imagined. When first we met, my face was uncovered and yet she gazed upon me as if I appeared as you see me now. Her name is Christine. Yes, it is Christine for it is a family name. The name of her great, great-grandmother."

I proceed to tell the silent woman before me of all that had befallen me. Beginning with my first moment of awareness in Christine's den and ending with my desperate departure from the very same room. Needless to say, I did not impart those details of an intimate nature, but even then, the story was long. When at last I fell silent and my mind came back to the compartment and its occupant, I am stunned to see tears upon Christine's cheeks.

"Please! I beg your pardon! I did not mean to distress you! I did warn you of the unbelievable nature of my tale. And yet, I told it in the only way I could have done. As what I have told you is the truth."

She smiled at me and with that smile, I once again saw the girl whose voice I had trained and had loved as a sister.

"Calm yourself, sir. Your story causes me to weep tears of joy not sorrow. To know that a child of mine will bring you such a love. To know that a part of me lives on in flesh and in name more than one hundred years hence lifts my heart. Thank you, Erik. You have given me a great gift. Through the life of this child, I become immortal. I can now make my choice and tell you that this child must live. So, what is to be done? How can I escape Raoul? At present, I have fled from him, true. But I have done so before and have always returned. Either due to my cowardice, lack of funds or his lackeys have found me and brought me back. He keeps a tight grip on his property, does Raoul. And I am one of his most prized possessions. Come see! The famous Christine Daae, the caged song bird-turned breeding cow."

Her bitterness startles me, but then she has every right. Mon chére cœur is right. Christine Daae must be set free. My mind once again turns to the family de Wolfe.

"Christine, you and Raoul make the rounds of social functions, do you not?"

"Of course, where better to parade me?"

I nod sadly.

"Have you ever heard of the family de Wolfe?"

She laughs. "Of course! The old Comte and Comtessa de Wolfe. That family is older than Raoul's."

"Is there an heir?"

"Yes, but the strange thing is no one has met him. His name is Etienne. He was sent to England for his schooling and never returned. Quite the scandal! I believe he studied law at Oxford. He must be about my age. Last I heard, which was I believe about a week ago, his father had sent someone from the estate to fetch him. The poor old man is not well and wishes to see his son before he passes. Why do you want to know?"

"I believe the family de Wolfe is the key to your happiness. Do you know where their estate is?"

"Well, I've heard their lands are in Brittany somewhere."

That one word falls on my ears as a leaden weight. And although I knew it was coming, it momentarily stuns me with old emotions.

"My family is of Bretagne of the region Ille et Vilaine. We are neighbors to the de Wolfe estate. They hold the Château de Hédé which lies but 4 kilometers from the home of my family as the crow flies."

"Yours, Erik? I was not aware you knew your family. I apologize that sounded very rude, but I did not mean it that way. You never spoke of your family. I just assumed …"

"That I knew not who my parents were?"

"Well, yes."

"I have known who they were ever since I had money enough to bribe the gypsy clan who imprisoned me all those years ago for their names. I am of the family de Mornay, albeit a bastard son. My father is Jean-Paul. Soon to be the last of the line du Comte de Mornay of Château de Montmuran. My mother is or at least she was when I last checked on her, a scullery maid by the name of Genevieve."

"Royalty. I always knew you had to be." She shakes her head with a wry smile. "Well, your father would have done better for himself if he had legitimized you. He, too, is old and in ill health. Unlike the Comte de Wolfe, Comte de Mornay has no heirs and according to the gossip the estate will most likely be absorbed by the de Wolfe's."

I spring to my feet laughing.

"That is perfect!"

"Why is it perfect, Erik? The estate in truth should be yours."

"Ah, child, I have no need of an estate. I have told you what I need. I need only my Christine and Trystin. I laugh and say it is perfect because I believe your future lies with this man, Etienne de Wolfe."

Turning a skeptical look on me and placing her hands on her hips, she thrusts her rounded belly at me.

"Oh, yes, of course. A wealthy, educated and unattached man will want to save me. Of course, he is a barrister! He could help me divorce Raoul and then I would be free to marry him."

"Such cynicism does you disservice, Lady. You are more than a worthy match of any man. And Monsieur le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny does not deserve you in the least. Perhaps, Etienne de Wolfe is the one to bring you the truth of love. It is possible, Christine. Believe. I never did believe. Never could I imagine a reason to believe. Fate blessed me by giving me reason to believe. I would die for them, but know that living for someone is harder still. Please, Christine. You must have hope for yourself. I do. All that you have told me kindles that hope into a flame. Hold it close and do not let it die. You are not dead yet. Where there is life there is hope."

"Sir, you tempt me with hope. Be not Pandora with her box of evils and release that final plague upon me unless you are earnest in your protestations."

"Madam, I would not be otherwise. I would sooner lie to you or mislead you than I would turn from my love. Hope is not an evil, Christine. Even when I was at my most abject and professed my hopelessness for love, in my true heart of hearts, I believed. Please, believe. It will find you as it did me. We cannot hide forever from love. It will find us. It found me and brought me joy. Me! Would you have believed it possible? Me?"

She laughs and twirls about the compartment.

"All right, Erik. I will allow for the possibility. Now, as to the reality of my situation in the here and now. What shall I do now? Where should I go?"

"Well, we are on a train, yes?"

She nods.

"What is the destination of this train?"

"Luxemburg."

I laugh. My Christine's maternal grandfather is from that principality. Coincidence? I think not. Let us cross the border and we shall begin to make our plans. When is the child due?"

I say this last to make certain that this is the child I need to protect. I need to be absolutely certain this is the child with the birth date of June 7, 1885.

"Late December, why?"

"And you are certain of this?"

"Of course. I have had six others."

"Beg pardon, Lady. It is difficult to place that number upon your person."

"Thank you, Erik."

"It is true. May I ask you one last thing? What is the date today?"

"Why, it is October 22, 1881."

I sit stunned by the revelation. My mind in turmoil. What can this mean? I know not.

"This changes things. I was under the mistaken impression that this is the child on whose birth the life of my beloved depends. It is not. I am sorry, Christine. The child whose name is Emma is born on June 7, 1885."

"It is a strange thing to hear the announcement of the birth date of a child not yet conceived. At least I now know what to name her. Emma. So, this child still could be the death of me if Raoul lays hand on me again."

"Again? Oh, Christine! I shall endeavor to thwart him and this time, I will not fail you. This I promise you, Christine. I shall not fail you. You shall be free to have love and be loved as you deserve. I cannot do otherwise. For how could I ask you to place yourself in peril for the sake of my happiness if I will not do the same for you?"

"My peril began the day I met Raoul and that meeting is laid at the door of chance, not you. Please do not carry guilt for my decision to save your life. Your life, sir, was and is worthy of saving. I do not blame you. If there is blame to be laid at anyone's door, the blame belongs to Raoul … not to you. But, enough of this. I would like to ask a question of you … a personal one … may I?"

"You may ask, Christine. I cannot guarantee my answer." I smile showing her I am amenable to her inquiry.

"What is Christine, your Christine like? What does she look like? Does she sing? Is she like me at all?"

Her questions surprise me. I was ready for her to ask me many things, but questions about my beloved were not one of them. I close my eyes and picture my beloved before me.

"She is short height. I stand and hold my hand to my chest. She stands about this high, which is much shorter than you are. She has an olive complexion that is golden brown from the sun. You have always been quite pale. Her eyes are a green-hazel with a golden brown circle about the pupil. Her eyes change colors sometimes they look the deepest blue, others pale blue and others green but always the golden brown halo surrounds her pupils. Your eyes are always deep brown. Her hair is deep auburn brown. Yours is deep dark brown. Her hair is fine with just a hint of curl. Your hair is coarse and wildly curly. Both of you are well-formed. She is lean and muscled. You are lean and delicate." I pause as thinking of my Christine is causing an ache in my heart that threatens my composure. "I am sorry. I cannot go on. I miss her and wish I were with her now. But, that cannot be. She is dying, Christine. Perhaps, that is not the proper description for what is happening to her. She is fading away. Fading from existence. Something that is happening now or will happen soon threatens her life. If she fades, her daughter will also. And I will become as I was … alone and abhorred by society. I would not mind so much about losing this." And I gesture at my unblemished features. "But to know love and have it ripped away by forces outside my control …"

I cease speaking and just shake my head. She walks to my side and pats my arm.

"Keep her in your heart, Erik. We will find a way to keep her in the world. I have faith."

She has surprised herself and the evidence is borne on her face. And yet, I see a shadow in her eyes.

"I believe." She speaks the word in a reverent whisper and then repeats them again as if to convince her of their truth. "I believe."

"Thank you, my dear friend. And it was my intention to rescue you. Here you are rescuing me once more."

We both laugh and for a moment I see years of care melt from her.

"Please sit, Christine. You need rest and we need to make plans."

"Yes, plan we must before Raoul sends his hounds to retrieve me."

"His hounds may seek you, but they will not find you. We exit the train at the next station. I believe it is time for me to visit my place of birth and lay claim to my inheritance. The Château de Montmuran will provide safe haven while you await the birth of this child. Also, it provides us a close neighbor in de Wolfe. But that lies further in the future. Christine, you must decide whether you wish to keep this child with you or hand it over to the Vicomte. If you present the child to him after the fact of its birth is witnessed and recorded, he would not dare harm her. I believe we can arrange documents that would attest to your death in childbirth. However, the decision of this child's fate is yours and I will give aid to whatever choice you make."

"We have talked long and you need to rest. I, too, am weary. Let us sit and try to take some sleep before the next station."

"Yes, sleep. It will be the first peaceful and unafraid sleep I have taken since I was a girl at the opera house. It is good to have you here, Erik."

"Sleep, now."


	22. Traveling, Part 1

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Twenty-Two – Traveling**

I cannot respond in kind to her. I would wish otherwise than to be here with her. My heart longs to be with my beloved, my betrothed, mon chére cœur and her daughter. Taking my seat and closing my eyes, the scenes of the past days replay in my mind. The memories of our passion take my breath away and I am unable to sleep. I hear Christine's breathing pass into the deep regular breath of sleep. My mind refuses to cease its meanderings. The necessity of the visit to my ancestral home weighs heavily on me. Soon after the discovery of my parentage, I had made my first and only journey to Bretagne as an adult. Strange to know that I had been born there and both of my birth parents still lived there. I felt no kinship with the land. No tie to the place. Of course, I had still been marked with the disfigurement of my birth, so I had gone not as son to father. Thinking back to that earlier pilgrimage, I am now not certain why I really went there. Did I go to torment my parents? No, I think not. Am I lying now? Perhaps. Looking back on that visit, I believe I went there in a vain attempt to find love. Any love I could. I was sadly disappointed. My father, cold as stone, unwittingly goaded me into threatening his life. My mother ran from me weeping hysterically. I let her go for even then I had been able to see through my pain and see that my mother may have been more of a victim than I was. I have come to believe that my conception was the result of a man confirming his fertility and his wife's sterility and not that of a man and a woman loving one another. The theory is my own. I have no facts to prove or disprove it either one way or another. So, I blame not my mother. She, a servant, was powerless in this matter. She could do no less than to submit to the will of her master. I believe that she feels my disfigurement was God's punishment for her sin. Sadly, as an adult I witnessed the fact of her continuing guilt when she ran screaming from me down the hall of the château.

Then, on the other hand, there is my father. The man is an enigma to me. And, I must admit that most of my opinions about him based on information that is at best speculative. It seemed that my father considered my disfigurement proof of his continuing streak of bad luck. It appeared that he never gave a thought as to how I felt about it. I am simply one more disappointment in a life full of disappointments.

My grandfather had lived an exceptionally long life, so my father had been forced to wait until he was 34 to inherit.

His arranged marriage to Gwendyn, the daughter of a distant Welsh relative was meant to rekindle the family ties with Britain and strengthen the family bloodlines. It did neither. His bride proved infertile and unfortunately for my father, she lived just long enough to prevent him from beginning again.

His wedded ties with Wales proved more a burden than a boon. His wife's family had a name as ancient as his own did, but nothing more. The family home, Castle Harlech, had fallen into disrepair and Gwendyn made constant demands of him for funds to keep it running. What my father failed to realize was that while Gwendyn's requests for funds were honest, her brother, Andrew who held title to the Castle was not. He was a very sharp man indeed. When Gwendyn had left her family home, it had been in a dire state. Andrew used his sister to cajole funds out of my father. However, when at last Monsieur le Comte de Mornay cut Gwendyn's family loose from his purse strings, the Castle Harlech was in much finer shape than it had been for more than a century and the Château de Montmuran much poorer.

As to his hope of gaining political power (albeit English power) through his marriage, a number of acts passed by the English Parliament robbed him of those hopes. In 1847, the Bishopric of Manchester Act passed which limited the number of bishops entitled to sit in the House of Lords. Gwendyn's property was held as a bishopric and gradually their political power faded away. Until the family at last lost their seat in the House of Lords when their church was disestablished in 1869 as a retired bishop cannot sit or vote in the House of Lords.

My father, once a man of infinite promise, never realized any of his ambitions. His life spent watching his holdings dwindle as his investments went bankrupt and his wife demanded more funds for her family. Bit by bit the doctrine he had been raised by slipped from his grasp. Now, all that is left is an embittered old man in a loveless marriage. And this is the man with whom I intend to attempt one last reconciliation.

I believe my transformed face will be met with either cries of joy or terror. It is difficult to predict as the province of Bretagne is a strange mix of superstition and Catholicism. Calveries and menhirs. But be that as it may, my Christine's mother had a saying … where there's life there's hope … so I will present myself to my father and hope for his acknowledgement.

Whether he acknowledges me or not, I will demand that he provide sanctuary for Christine. As a Catholic noble, he cannot refuse aid. Especially, if she makes her declaration in the chapel of the Château de Montmuran. As a Breton, he feels more allegiance to his province than to France. For the inhabitants of Bretagne are considered by those outside the province as not truly French. The family de Mornay of Brittany has no ties to the family de Chagny of Champagne. The family de Chagny is a relatively new line. Nouveau riche from the Champagne province. A common family grown wealthy off the fertile soil of the region. A common family who felt it beneath them to accept into their midst the lead soprano of the Opera Populaire. I feel a small smirk growing on my lips. I believe it will afford my father a small measure of satisfaction in thwarting Monsieur le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny's effort to retrieve his runaway wife from the Château de Montmuran. To afford a powerless old man some semblance of power in even such a trivial matter as a wayward wife is the least I can do for my father. I imagine he will relish being able to order de Chagny out of his home.

The sound of approaching footsteps brings me out of my reverie. I open my eyes and check to be certain Christine's condition is not readily evident. She must have had the same thought as mine for she is propped in the corner covered with a large woolen cloak. A small rap on the door precedes the man's entry into the compartment.

"Reims, five minutes monsieur."

I nod and hold up my hand to stop him from leaving. Motioning towards the hall, I wave him to the corridor and follow him out.

"I'd like to arrange passage for my sister and me to return to Paris, please."

"Of course, monsieur. He removes a booklet from his pocket and the ticket punch. The man pauses for a moment.

"You wish to return to Paris?"

"Yes, my sister feels unwell and we must cancel our trip for now."

The man shakes his head and with a knowing grin says, "Women, eh?"

"Yes, the root of all evil, but a necessary one or so I'm told."

I return his jest and smile.

He nods again and punches two tickets.

"That will be two francs, monsieur."

I pay the man, he hands me the tickets and returns to his rounds. I return to my seat as quietly as possible and await our arrival at the Reims station. I am not pleased that we must return to Paris, but due to the limited rail lines, I see no other option. The Vicomte can easily trace his wife's route to Reims and then back to Paris. Once in Paris, however, if I purchase the tickets and keep Christine hidden within her cloak, I believe it will cover Christine's trail and increase our chance of arriving in Rennes unnoticed. I feel the train slowing.

"Christine … Christine … we're in Reims. Time to go. Christine?"

She comes slowly awake and seems surprised to see me here. As she comes fully awake I see her eyes widen. She smiles and it lights up her face with an ethereal glow.

"You really are here! I'm so glad. Where are we going?"

"Time to change trains. We're going back to Paris. From there I'll take care of the travel arrangements. That may permanently throw him off your trail, but I think not. He has the means to find us, but this will provide us with a head start."

"Paris." The word leaves her mouth like a leaden weight.

"I used to love Paris until I became Raoul's prisoner there. Taken out and put on display for his social functions. Paris is so beautiful now. Especially now that the renovation of the city is long in the past. The trees have matured in the parks and the Seine is beautiful. Life is vastly improved since the time of the Second Empire. Napoleon III and now Napoleon IV care for all of our people. They build ever more roads and rail lines. We have become as modern a city as London. And the electric lights! Erik, tell me what you think of it? Have you seen it?"

"Ever the little chatterbox, aren't you? Yes, Christine I have seen it. And I have seen the great, great grandchild of electricity, remember? We must continue this conversation at a later time. We must go. Please wear your cloak and cover you head."

"Very well."

"Do you have any bags?"

"Yes, there and there."

She points at two of the overhead compartments. I open them, retrieve the bags, secure the doors and open the door for Christine.

"After you, my Lady."

She pulls the cloak about her carefully covering herself. We exit the train and make our way to the Paris gate. The train for Paris is already boarding. We hurriedly board and then seek out an unoccupied compartment. When at last we are safely ensconced within the privacy of the compartment we let out a collective sigh.

"It is a strange thing." Christine begins and then stops. She seems embarrassed, but I have no idea what has caused her discomfort.

"What is strange, dear friend?"

"Oh, I was just thinking that I have never been with you in public before. It is nice to see you in the real world, Erik."

"It is nice to be seen and be as everyone else. I still am unused to walking about like this. This face I now wear is still new to me and I must constantly remind myself that I have nothing to fear if I am seen. If it were not for the fact of my two Christine's need for me to walk in the light, I am certain that although my face is whole my walking would still be limited to the shadows. Old habits die hard, yet for the sake of you both I have adapted. The thing I find most difficult is remembering that I appear normal and there is no reason for me to hide in the shadows."

The train lurches and begins to move forward.

"You are quite convincing." She stifles a yawn. "How long to Paris?"

"About an hour and a half, perhaps two hours. Please, sleep. You will need your strength and energy when we reach Paris."

"I do believe I will take your advice. Have you been able to sleep at all or do you still find sleep evades you?"

"Much the same as before. And yet, I have experienced the bliss of true sleep."

"Oh, Erik, the look upon your face is precious! You are thinking of her after your lovemaking, aren't you?"

I turn my face from her unable to speak with her about this subject. My cheeks burn and I know I am red with embarrassment. I cannot speak of lovemaking with this Christine. My experiences of it are still too new and with my beloved being parted from me, too painful. Later, perhaps there may come a time I can speak of it with her, after I have been reunited with my beloved, but not now.

"Christine, rest now and I will awaken you when we are nearly there."

"You try to do so also. You will do none of us any good, especially if we must confront Raoul or his men, if you are exhausted. Besides, you must look your best when you present yourself to your father."

"You are correct on both counts. I will try. That is all I can promise."

"Your promise to try is better than most men's oaths to do. Good night, Erik."

"Thank you and good night, Christine. Sleep well."

"You too."


	23. Soon, Dearest, Soon!

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Twenty-Three – Soon, Dearest, Soon**

I wait until her breathing slows and know she is asleep before I close my eyes. I walk through my mind to the spot where our souls meet. For someone who had considered himself thoroughly used to being alone, I was amazed at the depth of my need for my beloved. To put it simply, I miss her. I gaze towards the joining spot of our soul and decide to make an attempt to speak with my Christine. When I last came to this spot there had been a huge dark stone wall and shadows. Now, while the stone wall is gone, the doorway to her portion of our soul remains heavily cloaked in deep shadow. The shadows frighten me. Me! The Trapdoor Lover! Taking a mental step forward, I enter the shadows and immediately feel her presence all about me. The shadow is not something blocking her from me! It is Christine's indomitable spirit overflowing the joining space of our soul. I breathe deep of the shadows and find the reason for the darkness of her invading spirit is her fear for her daughter. In a feat only possible within the confines of our soul, I attempt to inhale her spirit and lend it comfort. I find as much comfort as I give and while no words are spoken between us. She takes the sorrow we both feel and transforms it into hope. Something I have done has already strengthened her hold on reality. She is no longer fading and I feel Trystin is no longer immediately in danger.

"Soon … my dearest … soon."

Her voice fills my mind.

"Soon … together … soon."

Her words bring a joy to me so absolute that I physically shudder in response to the ecstasy of it. The shadows begin to wind about my presence, caressing me, arousing me and the shadow takes my beloved's shape. I find we have both created mental images of ourselves and I am hard, ready to take her. I gather her to me and rain kisses along the length of her wondrous neck. My mouth needs hers and when our lips meet, her body of shadow is transformed into one of radiance. Our bodies joined at the lips are poised to give and accept one another and join in a second hotter and wetter place. As is her custom, she lowers her hand and grasps me. She prolongs the moment of entry as she gently squeezes me, teasing me harder. Our mouths continue to drink of one another and moaning, I begin to thrust myself into the curl of her fist. Around the joining of our lips, I feel her mouth curl into a smile. She too can wait no longer and the teasing hand guides me to the opening of her lower lips. These lips too a full, dark red and wet. I enter her and know that I no longer exist as simply "Erik." I am now we. We thrust and arch, give and take, offer and accept and she is I and I am she, we are we. The strain of our separation, my fear and desperation are cast off and the brilliance of her light burns them to nothingness. The rhythm of our joining changes, as we approach our climax. Our speed increases. She opens to me and I enter her deepest recesses completely and utterly. One last time, I withdraw and with a final plunge my body is released within her. I feel her involuntary flexing of muscles and that wrings another spasm of seed from me. Our hands join and we kiss as we remain joined below with legs wrapped about one another. I/We groan as she suddenly suckles my tongue. I feel myself twitch within her. And yet, again we race inexorably towards the heavens and bliss. We fall into one another again and again. I/We are delirious with need, desire and hunger of one another. Insatiable and at the same time sated, when I feel the touch of a cool hand on the burning skin of my arm.

My eyes open. The Vicomtessa Christine leans over me and is gently shaking my arm.

"Erik, are you all right?"

A moan involuntarily escapes my lips as my unseeing eyes open and in the private place of our soul I feel myself slip from my beloved's body. Within that place we share, I hear her moan echoing mine and then as my consciousness begins its return to the world, I hear, "I love you always, Erik."

My mind pauses a moment and I return the thought, "And, I love you for all eternity, Christine."

I feel her mind caress mine in a gentle kiss and then I am awake. My eyes open, yet unseeing, flutter and the world about me comes into focus.


	24. Picnic

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Twenty-Four – Picnic**

Before me stands a woman and my mind tells me she is the other Christine. Her eyes are full of concern for me. I am both amused by her concern and feel a small amount of guilt as the cause of her concern was bliss for me. While I was otherwise engaged with my beloved, my body had slumped over into the corner. I sit up and find that my worldly body has sticky proof of our lovemaking.

"Erik, are you all right? Did you have a nightmare?"

"No. I am well. I apologize for alarming you. Did I wake you? Was I quite loud?" I attempt to hide my embarrassment in a show of concern for her.

"Yes, you woke me. No need to apologize. Yes, you were quite loud. Such moans, Erik. Really, it made me feel quite odd."

It is then that I notice that her face is flushed and her breathing ragged.

My mind tells me, _"Her body knows what I was doing. Perhaps, her mind does not, but her body knows."_

"Really? Well, again I am sorry for disturbing your rest. If you would excuse me? I need to take care of a personal matter."

She frowns, bows her head to acknowledge my leave taking and then turns her head from me to stare out the window at the shadowy shapes of the countryside.

I rise from my seat and ignoring the rapidly cooling remains of love, I direct a slight bow towards the confused woman and exit the compartment in search of a place to refresh myself and regain my composure. A porter points me in the direction of the nearest water closet. I clean my clothing and manage to do so without leaving any outward sign. A wet spot or stain would be most embarrassing. On my way back to the compartment, I see the same porter and ask if the dining car is open. He tells me that it is not meal time, but he is certain something can be arranged if we are hungry. He points the way and I toss him a two franc coin. He smiles his thanks and continues past me down the corridor. However, now he is whistling as he walks. I smile. It takes so little effort to make another person happy and yet, it seems, so few people are willing to do it. As I walk towards the dining car, I realize that I am smiling.

I hear my dear heart's voice from within, _"As ye sow, so shall ye reap."_

In the dining car, I was able to obtain a loaf of bread, three fresh fall apples, a quarter of a round of summer comté cheese, a carafe of milk (for Christine) and (I must add this, I was very pleased to find) a bottle of Volnay. I felt most fortunate to discover this wine, as most prefer the stronger, heartier red wines of the Côte de Nuits. And the dining car did indeed have several selections of those. I, on the other hand, prefer the more delicate reds of Côte de Beaune. The waiter placed everything I purchased in an open wicker basket, including two of each – glasses, plates and napkins; a knife and a corkscrew.

Feeling very pleased with my decision to visit the dining car, I walk briskly back to our compartment. Upon entering, my pleasure continues as I find Christine awake and in a better state of mind than when I departed. She made no mention of my sleeping moans. It is my sincere hope that she had simply placed the blame for my sounds on a bad dream despite my reassurance to the contrary. It is a strange thing to be in love and feel guilt over your own happiness. Here I am … Erik, a man, also known by other less complimentary names, who had never expected a woman to want to look upon him (not even my friend, Christine Daae had been able to countenance my visage when first she saw it.) Yet, I find a woman who not only wanted to look upon me, desired me just as I was. And now, I feel guilt because the woman sitting across from me has yet to be blessed by love. I am comforted only in the knowledge that I know she will find her great love very soon.

"I have a picnic for us. I thought perhaps you would care for something to eat?" I raise the basket.

"Oh, something to eat! That sounds absolutely wonderful!"

I find the table the waiter had said was stored near the compartment door. I assemble it and position it between our two seats. I set out the plates, glasses and napkins. I then remove the rest of our feast to the table and set the empty basket near the door. Picking up the knife, I make quick work of slicing each of us some cheese, several slices of bread and an apple. I remove the cork from the wine bottle and set it aside to breathe.

"Would you prefer wine or milk?"

"Oh! Milk, please!" She gives a small bounce and claps her hands with delight.

_Yes, it really is the small things that count_, I think once again.

I take a napkin and drape it over my arm. Then hold the milk carafe for her approval. She looks the carafe over and then nods towards her glass. I pour two fingers of milk into the glass. She lifts it to her nose and sniffs loudly, then swirls the milk. Lastly, she loudly sips the milk, but she doesn't spit it out. Instead, she makes a show of swallowing it. Her face beams with delight and she giggles.

"Excellent choice, sir. Please …"

She motions to her glass and I fill it for her.

I take my glass and fill it with the Volnay. Then setting the bottle down, I raise my glass.

"I would like to propose a toast. Madame, to life."

"Non, monsieur. À l'amour!"

"I will drink to that as well. Now, Lady, let us eat."

My mind begins to wander as I eat. I think of her. Her crooked smile. The little birthmark shaped like the heel of Italy's boot on the underside of her bicep. Mostly, I sit and dream of the time the three of us can be together as a family. Without any cares except for the ordinary concerns of a lover, husband and father; a lover, wife and mother; and a daughter. I wonder whether we will live in my time or hers. I wonder …

"Pardonnez-moi, Erik? Erik? I have asked you for the carafe twice. Where are you? Are you really all right?"

"My apologies, Christine. Rest assured I am quite all right. I am to put it quite simply, in love. I miss her and Trystin. I am so very worried about the two of them. And I find it difficult to concentrate. There is not a moment when she is not in my thoughts. And, well, I never thought to have … well, I never thought a woman would ever consent to my holding her hand. I never thought a woman would willingly kiss me. And I knew no woman would ever hold me or lie with me. And the one thing, the one thing of which I had absolute certainty was no woman would ever love me. Yet, she did. She did all of those and more even though I still looked as I used to. When she looked into my eyes I could see that she was seeing something that others did not see. Not even myself. When she looked at me it seemed as if she were gazing upon the face I now wear. I will always be amazed that she loves me. We complete one another."

My words at last run dry. I was not able to look at Christine while I made my confession, the outpouring of my heart and soul. After a moment of silence, I turn to her. She sits looking at me. Her face an unreadable mask.

"Once again, my apologies! Please forgive me! I prattle on about love and here you are so unhappy. Oh, my silent friend! Forgive me! I am the most stupid of men. If my words brought you sadness, please accept my apology." My voice trails off, as she remains silent.

"Erik, you are the stupidest of men. I do agree, but not for the reason you believe. I sit in stunned silence because I am in awe of the love you profess and possess. I have never heard any person speak as you do of love. Nor, have I ever known anyone so aware of the preciousness of love."

"Christine that is not true. You sacrificed your hope of happiness in order to save my life. I live to love because of you. And you have existed in hell because of me. I speak of my love and yet, I did nothing to save you. It was my Christine who began the quest to save you. I simply carry on here in her place and hope that I can somehow help you and my ladies."

"Erik, I did not sacrifice myself for you. When I made my choice I knew what I had done. And Erik, what I had hoped was I could change him. Make him over into the boy I had once known. The fact that it was a vain and false hope is not your fault. I lay it at the door of youth and inexperience. If I had to do it over again, I would do the same. It has not been all hell. My children have provided me some small solace. And I still live. Erik, I still live. And now, I have a flicker of hope in my heart. Please let us move on from here! Remember, I believe. And, I hope. And, most importantly I have you here beside me, my friend, to help me."

"You are too good, Lady. Too good. I shall endeavor to live up to your hopes and expectations. Now, let me fill your glass."

She laughs merrily.

"After all, Erik, I believe you have plans for me to be free to love and marry again. I shall not despair, so neither shall you. Let us look to the future. Mine and yours."

As I fill her glass there is a soft knock on the door. After a moment, it opens and the conductor informs us of our arrival in Paris in five minutes.

"Let us finish and pack these things. I will not waste this good food. It has been long since I have had a Volnay as fine as this."

"I never thought you to be a wine connoisseur. It is good to see you as a person and not just my teacher and mentor. I am happy that my good Angel of Music has a name now."

We gather our things and with perfect timing, the train begins to slow.

"Remember, it is now you who must remain in the shadows, Christine. Not I. I do not believe anyone will recognize me now. But we must do our best not to draw attention to ourselves. We will find a place for you to sit and rest while I purchase our tickets. Is that agreeable with you?"

"Yes, Erik. It is. Let us go."


	25. Traveling, Part 2

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Twenty-Five – Traveling, Part Two**

We take our leave of the train and Christine wrapped within the confines of her large dark cloak draws not even a passing glance. I notice a bench on the side of the ticket office and lead her there.

"Here this seems a good place. It is public and I will not be far away. And best of all, the ticket clerk cannot see you from here. Please sit. I shall not be long."

She holds the front of the cloak closed and settles onto the bench. I walk around the corner of the ticket office and find the ticket window open. I walk up, purchase two tickets for the next train to Rennes via Le Mans and return to Christine.

"We have what we need. Unfortunately, we have to wait a little while. It should be leaving in an hour. That's a long wait on these benches but not long enough for us to run any errands. However, I would like to send a telegram ahead to Rennes and arrange a carriage to take us to Montmuran. The office is just outside and around the corner. I would prefer not to leave you here. Are you up for a short walk?"

"Really, Erik, I feel fine. Come let us order a carriage. I have never sent a telegraph before. I have heard people say that it is so expensive that the news in a telegraph is usually bad."

I cannot stop myself from chuckling. We casually walk through the station.

"The message you receive is called a telegram. The machine is called a telegraph."

"I am not very sophisticated, am I? Just a poor, ignorant little soubrette soprano." She sighs prettily and bats her eyelashes daintily. She looks sixteen again.

"Humph! One of the greatest coloratura sopranos ever to take the stage."

"Hardly, but thank you."

"Really, Madame, you underestimate yourself. It was a crime when you withdrew from the opera."

"Please let us not speak of that. At least not here."

"Very well. So, what should we talk about?"

Let us just walk silently. I enjoy your company. I always have." She smiles at me. "Even when you were in a mood. We do not need to speak unless we desire it."

I hold open the door for her and she passes through. I walk out and she links her arm through mine as I reach her side. She is correct. We walk in amiable silence to the telegraph office. Here, too, I conduct our business quickly. We exit the office and as soon as I close the door behind us, I explain to her that when we reach Le Mans there will be a telegram waiting for us there that will confirm my arrangements.

She nods and we continue our return to the station. We consult our tickets and find the platform for the train to Le Mans. The platform is nearly empty at this hour of the morning, so we easily find a place to sit. Christine leans her head against my shoulder and I place my arm around her. Soon, she sags against me in sleep. I smile.

The journey to Le Mans was uneventful. We boarded the train. I had purchased a private sleeper compartment. These were a new luxury and most expensive, but I felt that Christine's condition made it a necessity. I am not familiar with the intricacies of pregnancy, but I had an uneasy feeling that traveling at almost seven months was not the wisest of decisions. Unfortunately, her situation and mine (for that matter) left us no choice.

The telegram awaiting us in Le Mans proved Christine's informer wrong as it confirmed a carriage would be ready and waiting for our arrival at the station in Rennes. We changed trains without incident and arrived in Rennes at dusk.

As promised the carriage met us at the station and we transferred our meager possessions to the enclosed conveyance. I assisted Christine into the carriage and then spoke with the driver. He told me that if there were no problems on the road, we should make Montmuran by breakfast tomorrow morning. I provided the good gentleman with a monetary incentive to have us arrive both safely and on time in the form of 50 francs now and 50 francs on our arrival. The gentleman seemed impressed and immediately went to the carriage, opened the door for me and gently closed it behind me.

Other than the occasional rough patch in the road, this leg of our journey too proved quick and uneventful.


	26. Comte Jean Paul

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Twenty-Six – Comte Jean-Paul**

The sun was just rising when I saw the familiar road leading to my family's ancestral home. While the building is called a chateau, it really is a castle. It is quite beautiful with white stone walls and dark slate roofs and chimneys. It is situated on a small hilltop surrounded by farmland. From the base of the hill to the plateau is covered in dense forest on three sides and on the fourth side is a cliff of white limestone. The approach is a broad limestone lined greenway, which leads to a stone passage ending at the entry's drawbridge.

Our carriage stopped and the driver hopped down and rang the bell for the gate keeper. I heard muffled voices as the driver convinced the gate keeper it would in his best interest to lower the bridge and allow entry to his passengers. At last I could hear the sound of the gears turning and the bridge lowering. The carriage lurched forward and we drove across the bridge and into the main yard. I had forgotten how large the yard is. The driver drove to the bottom of the stairs leading to the entry and halted the carriage.

I gently shake Christine's arm.

"We are here at last. Wake up, sleepyhead. Time to meet the man who sired me."

She wakes slowly and I notice she is very pale. I feel a brief flicker of concern, which is banished by her radiant smile.

"Hmm … here at last. Do you think you could arrange a bath?"

"First things first. We must determine whether or not he will welcome us. I have not sent word of our arrival. I felt that would be best. I thought perhaps if he sees me he will be more amenable to our being here."

"I trust your judgment in this matter. Lead the way."

As if on cue, the driver opens the door of the carriage and holds out his hand to Christine to help her from the carriage. She raises the hood over her head and wraps the cloak loosely about her to conceal her condition, takes his hand and steps from the carriage. The driver steps back and allows me to exit unaided.

I instruct him that we will either be returning shortly or I will send word if we will be staying. I give the man another 50 francs and beg his patience. He doffs his hat and holding it before him gives me a quick bow.

"Sir, please do not hurry on my account. It is my pleasure to await your word. I will wait until you return or send word whatever your pleasure. I am your humble and grateful servant."

I smile at him. "Thank you. You are a most excellent driver and your service to me will not go unrewarded."

The surprise in his eyes is obvious as he garners from my words the promise of further Francs.

Christine and I walk slowly up the broad stairway to the entry. I pull the bell cord and we await an answer. Surprisingly, it is not a servant that answers the door. It is Jean Paul and I am shocked by how much he has aged, but my shock is nothing compared to his when he raises his eyes and sees who the man standing at his door is.

"You!" He cries. To my ears, his voice sounds as if it is seething with rage and indignation. He opens his mouth and seems about to continue an angry tirade when I see his eyes widen as he takes in the changed man whom stands before him. I look more closely at the man before me as well and think that perhaps I may have misjudged his reaction to me. Maybe, the anger I heard was of my own creation. Maybe, I heard only what I expected to hear. And with fresh eyes, I realize this man who stands before me has undergone changes of his own. Both of us have changed much since our last angry encounter.

"You!" He repeats, but this time I hear the true quality of his voice. There is no anger there only a happy, shocked wonder.

"It is you, is it not, Erik?"

"Yes, indeed, father. It is I."

"But how? How is this possible? This is a miracle! Come in! Come in!" He suddenly notices Christine and pauses to give her a bow. "Madame, you as well. Please, come in."

We walk through the double doors and into the entry hall, which rivals the grandeur of the opera house's entry. The foyer is cavernous yet grand with two staircases winding up to a landing that then crisscross one another and continue up to the second floor. To the right is a parlor and to the left a library. Jean-Paul leads us to the left and we enter the library. He quickly closes the doors behind us and his quickness belies the agedness of his appearance.

"Erik! You have returned. I had despaired that you ever would. Especially when our last meeting went so badly. Thank God! He has answered an old man's prayers and given me a second chance. Thank you for coming back, Erik."

Hearing my name fall from his lips is something I had never expected and I stand rooted to the spot. On our previous meeting he had refused to speak it and had used several unflattering epithets.

He continues. "It is so good to see you." He walks to me and holds out his hand. I am ambivalent about the scene unfolding about me, but for both Christine's sakes I take hold of his hand. He firmly grasps my hand and pulls me to him. I am surprised at the power of this seemingly old man as he wraps his other arm around my back and pulls me into an awkward hug.

"Yes, after all these years, God has granted me a miracle and given me a second chance with my son!"

And he went on and on in this manner. And still I stood rooted to the floor. My mind races and parrots words I had never thought to hear, Erik and son. Realizing I have been silent and that perhaps some sort of reply is necessary.

"Sir, I had heard you were ill and wished to inquire as to your health."

"Now, now … my health? Well, what can one expect one you reach my age? I'm above ground and every day above ground is a good day. But come, you have much changed. You look well. And I see you are healed. I am very happy for you."

Since he seems to want to hear my story, I tell him a loosely concocted tale consisting of expert surgeons and that seems to satisfy him. When at last his overwhelmed emotions begin to subside, he turns his attention toward Christine.

"And, Erik, will you introduce me to your Lady?" He smiles gallantly at her and for the briefest of moments I suddenly see myself in his face.

"I will gladly introduce you. And while it is true she is indeed a lady, she is not mine. Father, may I present Vicomtessa Christine de Chagny."

Christine executes an elegant and old-fashioned curtsey.

He stares at the bowed head for a moment and as Christine rises, he claps his hands together.

"I remember you. You were Christine Daae. You sang at the Opera Populaire. And may I add, you sang quite beautifully, too. I was there for your first performance of Hannibal. Quite stunning. You robbed the world of a wondrous beauty when you ceased singing, my dear. Hmm … de Chagny." He glances at me with a raised eyebrow.

Christine smiles at him but says nothing.

"So, Erik, why have you come? I am not really as old or foolish as to believe you would be able to forgive me for an entire lifetime of rejection. I pray for your forgiveness, but I do not dare to hope for it. Why have you come? You say you heard I was in ill health. So, have you come to here the perfect son to gloat over my childlessness and ill health? I would lay no blame on you if you have. I deserve nothing from you. I refused to acknowledge you. I forced your mother to send you away. I deserve to suffer for my sins. And all too soon I shall." He pauses and studies my face for a moment. "Yet, you do not seem to be the same angry young man as when last we met. I believe more than your face is changed. Perhaps it is your soul that is healed. Your mother told me not to blame you for your looks. She said that it was a reflection of your torn soul. I did not understand her she was a gypsy after all. And I would not listen. I was young and soon to be married. I loved your mother. Did you know that? No. How could you? My marriage was loveless. Arranged by our parents, I was honor bound to see it through regardless of where my heart lay. I did my duty by my wife, but your mother was in fact my mate. Your mother …"

His breath catches on his last word and he sighs, running his hand over his face. He takes a deep breath and standing erect continues

"I have heard the rumors regarding de Chagny. I know why you are here. Your presence here has nothing to do with me, but everything to do with that fine Lady. You, sir, are a better man than I am. You, who could not have known the turn of my feelings, came here to beg sanctuary for this woman. You came believing I would berate and belittle you. And yet you came. You came for her. Erik, whom I have no right to call son, I beg your forgiveness."

I feel shocked to the very core of my being. How is it that this man who once despised me now begs me to forgive him? His words lay proof to the time he has spent pondering his treatment of me, so his words are not a reaction to the new face I now present to him. I am shocked and left without words. He reads it on my face and laughs. His laughter is not directed at me, but is bitter and directed at himself.

"Why did I not take up pen and ink? I have many times and each time I do the words seem insipid and untrue. Once, I actually finished the letter, placed it in an envelope and addressed it. But I lost my nerve when it came time to post it. I feel I do not deserve your forgiveness. Perhaps it is because I cannot ever forgive myself."

"Sir," he continues, "I have been alone since 20 June this year. No. No. My servants still reside here, but my heart left this world on that day. My Gen, your lady mother, passed on that day. I have had much time to consider my life and have found it sadly lacking. I have many regrets. But as the poet wrote:

_The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,  
__Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit  
__Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,  
__Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it._

– _Omar Khayyam_

"I believe those words to be true. And yet, I must say something to you, Erik. Even though it may cause you to laugh. I am most deeply and truly sorry."

He pauses for a reaction, but hearing none continues.

"Yes, your mother passed last June. She passed very quickly. She was always very petite and last winter she began to cough. By spring, the cough turned bloody. Our local doctor came and said it was the consumption. I did not want to hear that, so I had another doctor come, and another, and another. Until at last, your mother told me no more. My wife died last winter during the first week of December. Did you know that? Not many knew, as she was Welsh. One morning she did not wake. The doctor said her heart had failed her. I believe I failed her. I could not love her and she did not love me. I tried to make her happy, but a life without love? No, sir. Her heart failed and she died. And then, I find your mother is dying. I felt so much remorse over my treatment of you that I could not bare any more. I married your mother on 1 May. And I spent every moment from that day on trying to make her as happy as I could. And when she closed her eyes and exhaled for the last, I believe I went mad for a time. For try as I might, I was never able to see your mother truly smile before she died. She ceased smiling the day she finally gave in to my demands to send you away. She stood up to me for eight months. She was very brave. I was so very stupid. I threatened your life if she did not send you away. I was stupid and cruel. Heartless. I never would have harmed you, but I knew she would not risk harm coming to you. She finally gave in and sent you away. She soon fell into a deep melancholy and did not speak or move for many months. I hired a nurse to care for her. I actually attempted to find you and have you returned to her, but the gypsies had disappeared. I was unable to find them or you. She was inconsolable for years, but gradually she rejoined the world of the living. And after an even longer length of years, a gently uplifting of the corners of lips was the closest she could come to a smile. She never laughed again. She had the most wonderful, beautiful laugh! I can still hear it inside my soul, but I was never able to coax it from her living lips after you left. Do not blame her. She loved you unreservedly. I would like to believe the reason your soul healed is it remembers her love. She wrote a letter to you just before her death and asked me to post it. I did post it, but it was returned unclaimed. I will find it and you may have it if you wish. I only wish I could have found you before she died."

He walks to the window and gazes blankly outside. He seems at last to have run out of things to say. And the things he has said. It is almost too much for me to take in at one time. I am overwhelmed and my thoughts cartwheel through a tumble of his words. I feel a sudden peace flood my mind and it comes from my healed soul.

"To err is human, to forgive divine." I hear my beloved's voice whisper. "It is very simple. Walk over to him, take him in your arms, hug him and forgive him everything."

I hesitate and then nod. She's right. It is simple. The past is the past. He said it himself. It cannot be undone, but we can begin again now. As of this moment and go forward with forgiveness and love.

"Father?"

He does not react for a moment. Then he understands the word and turns to me with sad questioning eyes.

I walk to him and gently enfold him within my arms. He rests his head against my shoulder.

"I forgive you, father."

He cries and his body is wracked with the violent spasms of his torment. I try to comfort him with gentle pats on the back. The dam has broken and the torrent must run its course. I allow him this release.

When at last his sobs cease. I release him and hand him my handkerchief. He wipes his eyes and blows his nose.

"Thank you, Erik."

I nod and add. "Thank you, father. You have given me my mother."


	27. The Unexpected Delivery

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Twenty-Seven – The Unexpected Delivery**

We stand looking at one another while he regains control of himself. I notice that Christine has taken a seat on the sofa sometime during our exchange. I look at her more closely and see her color is worse. Her face is grey and faint black circles ring her eyes. Her face bathed with a sheen of perspiration. She is clutching her stomach through her cloak and I see her lips tighten in a grimace. Instantly I move to her side.

"Christine? What is it?"

"I did not wish to interrupt, but I believe my child has decided to make an early debut."

As if to add physical evidence to her claim, she gasps as her water breaks.

"Is there a doctor here?" I exclaim, turning to my father.

"Not here, no, but I believe I can have one here in a little less than half of an hour." He runs from the room shouting, "Daniel! Richard! Come quickly!"

I turn back to Christine and gently lift her from the sofa. I carry her out of the room and back into the foyer. My father is barking orders and the foyer is abuzz with activity. I feel a hand on my elbow.

"Monsieur, please come with me!" It is an older woman with a pleasant face, but beyond that I notice no more. I follow her up the stairs to the second floor. We turn to the right and enter a wide hallway. She opens the first door and moves into the room. I sweep into the room and seeing a bed, I gently deposit Christine there. The woman pushes past me.

"Monsieur, please! Let me take care of her. I need you to go out into the hall. I will fetch you when she is decent. Monsieur? Please! Monsieur?"

I stand rooted in place gazing at Christine. She opens her eyes and wanly smiles.

"Erik, please. Go."

Reluctantly, I withdraw from the room. I spend tense minutes pacing in front of the door when at last it opens I nearly push the woman over in my haste to hurry to Christine's side. The woman has removed her outer clothing and I can see a simple white chemise peaking out from under the blankets the woman has placed on Christine. I take a chair and move it next to the bed and sit. Christine's hand snakes out from the blankets and flutters in the air for a moment until I grasp it in mine. I sit there speaking soft words to her not even knowing what I am saying. I sing a lullaby to her. I recite a poem. I babble incessantly at her. She remains awake and silent. Occasionally, her grip on my hand becomes like an iron vise when one of her pains come, but other than that she remains quiet and calm. I sit and speak to her of who knows what and it seems that at least five lifetimes pass. The time between the squeezing of my hand is becoming shorter and shorter. This cannot be good.

I pray the only way I know how. I sing quietly at first, but as I continue I gain strength.

"_Ave Maria  
Gratia plena  
Maria, gratia plena  
Maria, gratia plena  
Ave, ave dominus  
Dominus tecum  
Benedicta tu in mulieribus  
Et benedictus  
Et benedictus fructus ventris  
Ventris tuae, Jesus._

_Ave Maria  
Mater Dei  
Ora pro nobis peccatoribus  
Ora pro nobis  
Ora, ora pro nobis peccatoribus  
Nunc et in hora mortis  
Et in hora mortis nostrae  
Et in hora mortis nostrae  
Et in hora mortis nostrae  
Ave Maria."_

_**-- Franz Schubert**_

As the last word rolls away into silence, I see Christine smiling up at me.

"You have the most beautiful voice. I …"

Whatever she was about to say is cut off by her scream and my hand is pierced by five steel blades.

Silence follows the scream and my hand is set free. I note as if from a great distance that blood drips from my wounds onto the coverlet of the bed. The serving woman's rough hands shove me aside as she rushes to Christine's side. She murmurs words of comfort to the laboring woman.

"Where is the doctor?" I cry. "Surely he should be here by now?"

And with a swirl of cloak and hat, "And, he is, Monsieur! The doctor is here."

A young man enters the room and throws hat, cloak and gloves aside. He is followed by an older man carrying a black valise. The young man walks around to the opposite side of the bed leaving the servant on the side nearest to me. He takes Christine's wrist and feels it for a moment then lays his other hand on her forehead.

Raising his eyes to mine he says, "Are you her husband?"

Startled, I stare at him for a moment then reply, "No. I am her friend."

The response raises an eyebrow, but he continues, "No matter."

Directing his command to the woman, "Quickly woman, I need clean sheets, a basin of cold water, washing cloths and a basin of hot water."

She scurries from the room.

"Monsieur, please assist me."

I nod and walk back to the bed. He rips the blankets from the bed and throws them on the floor. His eyes run up and down the length of Christine's writhing body.

"I need you to hold her still while I examine her. I need to check the position of the baby."

I nod and sit on the edge of the bed next to Christine. I lift her so her back leans on my chest and take hold of her shoulders firmly in my hands. I nod to the doctor and he nods back. I begin to sing quietly into Christine's ear, **_Ave Maria_** once more. The doctor pauses casting a surprised glance in my direction then continues. He takes her ankles in his hands and pulls her legs straight. He then begins to part her legs and that is when I close my eyes and turn my head away. She groans and attempts to thrash her body, but I hold her still.

"Good man. Just like that. Fine, Madame. Yes, you are ready to push, but the baby has not turned. This is not good. And, the baby is small. What is her due date?"

I respond woodenly, "I am not sure. She told me late December, monsieur."

Another scream bursts from her lips and I return my attention to calming her.

"Not good. We may lose them both, but I will do what I can. I must move the baby around and this is not going to be easy for her. I need you to keep firm hold of her. Madame! Madame! Can you hear me?"

"Yes. I hear you." She whispers.

"You baby is born too soon as I am certain you are aware. Is this your first child?"

"No, monsieur, this is my seventh child."

"Merde!" The word slips from his mouth. I smile and begin to like this man.

"Madame, I will do my best. I need to move your baby. It attempts to leave your womb shoulder first and this will not do. I must place my hand within your womb and shift the baby. This will hurt, but I need you to try to be as still as possible. Your friend holds you and my assistant will hold one ankle and the chatelaine the other. I will attempt to do this as quickly as possible. Any questions?"

Christine whispers, "Will the baby live?"

"I cannot answer that question. That is in God's hands now."

She groans. I hear the doctor walk up the bedside and I open my eyes. He is carrying a tightly twisted piece of cloth.

"Madame, please open your mouth." He places the cloth across her open mouth. "Now bite down if the pain is too great."

I catch a glimpse of her naked stomach and quickly close my eyes once more.

"Everyone ready?"

I check my hold on Christine and say, "Ready."

I hear two other voices say, "Ready."

The doctor speaks, "Very well. Do not let her move. I start … now."

The doctor continues to speak, but I cannot comprehend his words. My entire being centers on keeping Christine still and calm. I have not used this form of hypnotic persuasion often and it takes great concentration. As my focal point, I do not choose the song, but rather the song chooses me. I croon into Christine's ear a song that I both know and have never heard before.

"_Par un beau clair de lune  
Ô, joli coeur de rose, joli coeur de rosier_

_M'en allant promener  
Ô, gué lon la de la rive  
M'en allant promener  
Joli coeur de rosier_

_Dans mon chemin rencontre  
Ô, joli coeur de rose, joli coeur de rosier_

_Une jeune fille qui pleurait  
Ô, gué lon la de la rive  
Une jeune fille qui pleurait  
Joli coeur de rosier_

_Ah mais qu'avez-vous la belle  
Ô, joli coeur de rose, joli coeur de rosier_

_Qu'avez vous à pleurer  
__Ô, gué lon la de la rive  
Qu'avez vous à pleurer  
__Joli coeur de rosier_

_Je pleure mon anneau d'or  
__Ô, joli coeur de rose, joli coeur de rosier_

_Dans la mer est tombé!  
__Ô, gué lon la de la rive  
Dans la mer est tombé!  
__Joli coeur de rosier …"_

_**Traditional Breton Song**_

I use the words to sing her to a faraway land. A place far from this bed of pain. I sing her to a place where she is young, carefree and happy. A place where there is no pain. The words of the song fall from my lips and wash over Christine and me, leaving us cleansed of hurt. The words suddenly cut short by a hand gently shaking my shoulder.

"Monsieur, it is done. I need you to release her now. We need her to push!"

I open my eyes to see the doctor's curious eyes mere inches from mine.

"I do not know what you just did, but I believe it saved her life. Now, please allow me to help this baby into this world."

I gently release Christine from my arms and stand. A hand grasps the sleeve of my coat. I turn. It is Christine. She smiles weakly at me.

"Erik, please stay."

Returning her smile and nodding my head I resume my seat next to the bed.

The doctor stands at the foot of the bed with the chatelaine on one side and his assistant on the other. The doctor nods at each of them in turn. They lie down on either side of the bed and each one grasps a bedpost. The doctor places one of Christine's feet on one of the shoulders. He walks to the opposite side of the bed from me. He piles the pillows under Christine's head and back.

"Feel up to helping just a bit more?"

I nod and stand.

"When I say push, I need you to help her push down on the baby. Do not let the pillows fall. It is important that she not lie flat on her back."

I nod.

"Madame, when I say push, I need you to take a deep breath and hold it. Then bear down until I say stop. Do you understand?"

She groans. "Yes."

"You are doing very well. Very well."

He pats her hand and returns to the foot of the bed. Christine's bare legs bend and squeeze tightly together. The doctor places his hand between them and I look away.

"When you feel the next pain coming. Tell me, Madame."

"Yes. Here. It is coming!"

"Very well then, PUSH!!!"

I lift Christine and can feel her straining to expel the little life from her body. I count to her one … two … three …

At ten, I gently return her to the pillows. I take a wet cloth from a basin on the night table and bathe her sweaty brow. I gently kiss her forehead.

"You will be fine, my friend. You will be fine."

"Doctor!"

"PUSH!!!"

I lift her and she bears down. The doctor reports he can see the baby's head.

"Just a little more, Madame. Just a little more. There! Now stop pushing and breathe, Madame. Breathe."

I continue to hold her in the upright position as the doctor gently eases the baby's head from her womb.

"Breathe, Christine. Breathe. You can do this! Do not let him win. Do not let him kill you. You are strong. Breathe, Christine!"

I sense the doctor's gaze on me, but ignore it. My old friend is all that matters now.

"The head is out! On the next pain, push."

"Push!"

I lift her and she bears down, but the strain is much less and suddenly the mound of her stomach deflates. A tiny cry begins. I laugh with startled joy.

The doctor approaches with a small squirming crying bundle.

"Madame, may I present your son."

"What?" Christine is stunned.

"Your son, Madame. And I believe he will live."

"A son? Oh! A son!!!"

She turns to me with despair in her eyes.

"He will never let me go now. Never!"

"Hush, sweet Christine. Attend your child. Plenty of time later for such things. Besides, if I understand things you are not finished with your labors. Is that correct, Doctor?"

The doctor who overheard our conversation looks me in the eye and says, "Madame, you must labor for just another moment. Then you may rest. Ready? Push!"

Soon after, she expels the afterbirth.

After kissing her brow once more I tell her to rest.

"I will be close by. Have no fear you are safe here."

She nods her assent.

We three men leave the birthing room leaving Christine and her son in the capable hands of the chatelaine and her women. The assistant is the last of the men to leave the room.

The doctor asks me where he can wash. I lead him downstairs and into the kitchen. I know there is a water pump here for I had thoroughly researched the château's layout prior to my last visit here. The doctor pumps the handle until water begins to flow. His assistant takes over the pump and the doctor rinses the blood from his arms and hands. When they are clean, he splashes water on his face. And steps back, indicating I may take his place. For the first time, I realize blood covers my hands and the sleeves of my white shirt. Some of it Christine's and some of it mine. I take a quick inventory of my person and can feel drying blood on my face, ear and neck. I glance at my shirt and am shocked. It appears more a red shirt than white now. Grimacing, I remove it and glancing about hand it to a maid. She drops a curtsey and disappears with it. The doctor's assistant works the pump again and I plunge my entire upper body beneath the running water. I scrub the blood from me as best I can and rinse it from my hair. By the time I finish the maid has returned with a large towel. I thank her and dry myself.

The doctor once again takes over the pump and allows his assistant to wash. I see a clean white shirt sitting on a chair nearby and assume the maid brought it for me. I pick it up and shake the folds from it. This must be my father's I think. It is fine linen and smells of spice. I pull it on and as I expected, it fits as if made for me. I am not certain why, but this shirt fitting me opens a connection in my mind to my father. For the first time I truly feel I am his son. The next time I call him father, he will hear the truth of it in my voice. I am certain. He will hear the forgiveness and be comforted. And I am glad.

I realize the young doctor is staring at me and I raise my eyes to meet his.

"Remarkable thing you did in there. I've never seen anything like it. You probably saved both of their lives." He says simply.

"The least I can do for her."

He raises an eyebrow. "Saving her life is the least? I would be most interested in hearing what the most would be. Monsieur, we have yet to be introduced, so allow me. I am Etienne de Wolfe."

His words stun me, but I recover before he notices.

"And, I am Erik de Mornay."

"We are well met, I think."

"Yes, monsieur. We are." I reply.

Again he raises an eyebrow and I laugh. It says nothing, but speaks volumes.

He smiles and soon we are both laughing. My father enters the room and takes in the two of us. He smiles.

"I take it the young lady and her child are well?"

"Yes, father. Thank you." I walk to him and hug him tightly. I feel the surprised rigidity leave his body and he returns my embrace. I hear his voice in my ear.

"Erik, now I have but two sorrows. One that your mother is gone from this life. The other that I wasted so many years without you. But I will not bemoan those. I will celebrate my living son. Thank you, Erik. Thank you. I do not deserve your forgiveness, but thank you, my son."

I return his whisper, "Father, it is a dream to be able to call you that and mean it. You have given me two great gifts today. You returned to me the memory of my mother and given me a living breathing father. I, too, celebrate my living father." A rush of unexpected emotion overwhelms me and I continue. "I love you, father."

His embrace tightens for a moment longer and as he releases me he says loud enough for all to hear, "I love you, too, my son."

"I take it you are already acquainted with M. de Wolfe or should I say Doctor de Wolfe?"

I turn and raise an inquiring eyebrow.

He notices instantly and gives a hearty laugh.

"It is indeed Doctor de Wolfe, but I prefer my friends to call me Etienne."

Friend. Such a simple word. Less than a week ago I never thought to have a friend or a woman to love me. Now, here I am with all that and more. I have a father and a daughter, as well.

I hold out my hand to Etienne. He takes my hand in his and we shake.

"So, Etienne, I had heard you were a barrister. The Parisian gossipmongers are slipping." I give him a wry smile, which he returns.

"Gossip. The bane of our existence. I wish you had not used the word for I am desirous of asking you about my patient and it feels as if I too have lowered myself to the level of a gossipmonger."

I catch a hint of color high in his cheeks and think she has bewitched him already. Just as my Christine did to me. True love takes just one instant and is felt a lifetime.

"I believe you are entitled to ask a few questions and then you must excuse me. Vicomtessa de Chagny and I traveled all night to arrive here this morning. I am fatigued and would like to rest." I cast my next sentence at both men. "As I believe my fiancé will be arriving soon."

My father visibly starts and a huge smile spreads across his face. He rushes to me and grabbing my hand vigorously pumps it.

"You are engaged? So, you had reasons other than just the poor Vicomtessa in coming here! You wished to present your bride-to-be to me? Miraculous! Congratulations, my son!"

"I would like to add to your father's congratulations and say this engagement to another lifts a great burden from our friendship."

"How so, Etienne? I do not understand how this would affect us as friends. Could you please explain yourself?"

"I believe the course of my questions will explain themselves if you will allow me to ask them."

"Ask away, sir."

"The lady whose child we assisted in bringing into this world, I heard you say she is the Vicomtessa de Chagny, is she also the former Christine Daae?"

I answer a little warily. "Yes."

He nods his head.

"I thought I recognized her. I will never forget the night my parents dragged me to the Opera Populaire to hear her sing. It was a gala night and the first performance of Don Juan Triumphant. Its first and only performance."

"You were there?"

"Yes. I paid little attention to the opera. What I noticed most and dare I say enjoyed the greatest were the expressions of shock and horror over the lewd nature of the opera from the old prudes in the audience. But then she walked onto the stage. I couldn't take my eyes off her. And then, of course, the kidnapping and the fire and several deaths, a horrible tragic end. I hear she never sang again after that night."

"No. She never sang on the stage again. It was soon thereafter she married the Vicomte."

"Here is the question I hesitate to ask. How well do you know her? Until you announced your engagement, I assumed she was your mistress and this son born to her yours. Now, I am unable to fathom the relationship."

I smile. "I have known Christine since she was seven years old. I fell in love with her voice the very first time I heard her sing, but never was I in love with her. She was orphaned and that made me feel a kinship to her. I determined that I would watch over her as older brother and I did for nine years. Fate intervened when she was sixteen and I failed her. I could not save her from the Vicomte's attentions. She came to me in utter despair after the Vicomte had ravaged her. I in my foolish naiveté I concocted a plan to spirit her away and thus the alleged kidnapping. I am not certain as to how he discovered my plan, but he did and down that path lay Christine's ruin. I had not known the depths of his baseness. After the kidnap of Christine, de Chagny's lackeys tracked the two of us down and led the Vicomte to us. He actually took me at unawares and knocked me unconscious. He then used my life as leverage against Christine. He hung me from a rope. He told her that she had two choices. The first was if she married him he would set me free and call off the police. The second was she could leave a free woman, but the price was my life. She is a good and honorable woman. Rather than allow me to die for her freedom, she gave her promise that in exchange for my life and freedom she would consent to be his wife. That was ten years ago and everyday I carry the guilt with me. Until yesterday, when I discovered her on a train bound for Reims. She has run from him before, but I was never able to find her before he did. I convinced her to come with me here and I would request sanctuary for her from my father. Which, sir, I do so now make that request."

Without hesitation my father replies, "Done."

I feel Etienne has more questions, but I am fatigued and the brilliant light shining from my beloved's half of our soul is greatly distracting me. I raise a hand.

"Sir, could we resume our conversation later, please? I need to rest. Father, is there a room I could use?"

Etienne smiles, "Of course, I will look forward to speaking with you again. I will check on my patient and perhaps your kitchen could find me some breakfast. I left my home in a slight rush." His smile grows larger.

"Of course, monsieur. I will be right with you."

My father comes close to me, so we may speak privately.

"Erik, you may use my room. No one will disturb you there. I take it from your remark the last time we met, you know where my bedchamber is?"

My head lowers in shame at that memory. How could I have been so blind? I did not hear his word's true meanings and assigned to them those I thought he meant.

"Yes. I know."

He puts a hand under my chin and raises it.

"Now. Now. That is the past. We have the present and the future now! Perhaps, I will live to be a grandfather!" He winks at me.


	28. Erik's Fiancée

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Twenty-Eight – Erik's Fiancée **

My grinning father turns, grabs the startled Etienne by the wrist and leads him down the hallway in the direction of Christine's room; retreating before his last comment has time to register in my mind. I shake my head at the receding pair, turn and head in the opposite direction. I know a shorter route and after making certain no one sees, I break into a run for the shelter of my father's room. The dazzling distraction, which inhabits my mind, becomes more and more urgent in its demand for my immediate attention. I fumble with the latch on the door and practically fall into the room. Seeing my father's bed I fling myself onto it without bothering to undress or pull down the bed linens. I sigh and close my eyes.

As I close my eyes, I find behind my eyelids an urgent sparkling brilliance instead of the usual lonely dark. In the midst of this brilliance is a shape of dancing sparks that rapidly merge and take human form.

"Christine!" I shout her name. As my voice within shouts, so too does my body.

We rush to one another. I draw her into an embrace that sets every nerve of my mind and body afire with my need for her. She returns the fire of my embrace and we gaze into one another's eyes. I hear the clap of thunder and then feel her in my arms and I feel the softness of an unfamiliar bed. My eyes open and I sigh in relief. We are still in my father's room. We? Yes ... we. I hold my beloved tightly in my arms. And then we are laughing. Laughing like two idiots. I kiss her all over her face and she returns my kisses a thousand fold. I feel the pressing need in her kisses and caresses. She wants me!

"Tell me." I whisper to her half anxious – half teasing. It still seems incredulous that this amazing woman not only loves me, but desires me as well.

"I want you inside me. I want you now." Her voice is husky and her breathing ragged. Her hands pull at my clothing and as I caress her I realize she lies within my arms bereft of covering. She has been reborn into my world naked as the day she first graced the earth with her divine presence.

"I am yours to command, my beloved. I am yours."

Hands unused to the resistance they now encounter fumble uncertainly. The fumbling soon becomes a frustrated and insistent tugging at my clothing. I roll off her and lie next to her panting. While intense, our mental lovemaking pales at the mere expectation of entering her physical body. That entry is an exquisite prelude to the anticipation of release. She rises to her knees and slowly begins to disrobe me. As she lays bare each part of my body, she lowers burning lips and presses hot kisses upon my naked skin. When at last there is nothing else left between us, her eyes travel hungrily along my body, her attention drawn to the center of me, an excited smile plays at the corners of her mouth, her hand lays claims to my hardness. She bends over me, her hair spilling over her shoulders down onto my thighs. Her lips shower kisses along its length. I groan and find myself rising up on my elbows.

"Christine! I … what … wait!" I stammer.

Her hand presses into my chest and I fall back into the bedding. She continues her ministrations by suckling and fondling me. Never have I imagined such a thing! She brings me almost to the point of ecstasy when she straddles me and lowers herself onto me. Our eyes meet. There is wickedness in her smiling eyes and love. I remember when last she mounted me this way. I feel myself twitching within in anticipation of our joining and our release. A smile on her lips joins the smile in her eyes. She stretches out on top of me and our lips meet and lock in a deep passionate kiss. While our tongues entwine about one another, I grasp her tightly and roll over on top of her. Without freeing her mouth from mine, I begin a slow rocking rhythm of myself in and out of her. I want this to last forever, but all too soon the demands of my own body betray me. My rhythm breaks and grows ever faster and harder. She lifts her legs and wraps them about my waist and I slide even deeper into her. She meets my thrusts with thrusts of her own. And still we kiss one another with closed eyes. And then I feel it begin. Her body clamps about me in wave after wave as her climax takes her. The throbbing of her body around me proves too much for me to resist. A cry escapes as I release her lips, my back arches into one final thrust and I follow her lead into bliss finding my release deep within her. Every part of my body sings with the joy of her. I bury my face in her hair and breathe in her sweetness. I take her breast in my hand and gently caress her wondrous skin with my thumb. I feel her hands massaging my buttocks. One remains there and the other sets off to explore the rest of me. She lifts that one hand from her caress and brings it between us. Her hand then continues its exploration as it she runs it up my neck to my face. Oh! This woman! I turn my head and once again gaze upon the magic of her. Her eyes are closed and she is smiling. Her hand moves about my face and into my hair. Her hand finds the back of my head. She pulls me to her mouth, rocks her hips into me and pushes me into her with the hand on my buttock. The movement is delicious. I must confess I believe I groaned aloud at the completeness of my pleasure. The completeness I find buried deep within her.

"Christine!" I gasp. "A moment, please!" I beg.

She giggles her delight at my response to her.

"Beloved, I am very relieved to see you."

"Sir, the proof of your relief lies deep inside me. And it is there that I find my relief as well."

"Ohhh … you are incredibly wicked and at the same time, an absolute angel! I had feared never to touch you again outside of my mind. And yet, here you are. You are the answer to my prayers, well, almost. When the little angel is with us then my life will be complete."

"Yes, well my dearest she could have crossed with me. Something told me not to bring her just yet. I thought that we might wish for some time alone. She is a great admirer of Cecile and I believe Cecile returns her feelings in kind. I promised the two of them that we would return for them no later than the day after tomorrow." She pauses and looks about us. "Dearest, where are we? Whose bed is this?"

I laugh at her questions. Gently, I withdraw from her. My beloved's involuntary response to her now empty space is the small sob that escapes her mouth. She stuns me with the generosity of her love. I cannot believe my good fortune. Not only does she love me, she enjoys loving my body. And when our bodies part, she feels sadness and makes no attempt to hide her feelings from me. I nuzzle her neck and kiss it tenderly.

"We are in my father's house. And it is on his bed we lay."

"I could feel something miraculous happen to you, but I thought it had to do with Christine." A stricken look crosses her face. "You didn't … threaten him did you? Please! You must make peace with him! It is one of the things upon which our future depends. I have known for awhile, but did not know how to broach the subject with you."

Her voice raises an octave and I marvel at its tone and purity as her panic turns to fear.

"Stop! Be at peace my beloved! Stop! It is a day of miracles. We have made our peace and he now openly calls me son. And the strange thing is I call him father. We spoke and made peace. More than peace, he told me my mother loved me. It was my father who made her give me up. So, there are the first two miracles. The third is Christine. She has given birth to a child this day. No. It is not Emma. She has given birth to a son about six weeks premature, but he thrives. And yet, the birth is not the true miracle. The real miracle is today she met the father of Emma. The man who assisted the birth of her son, Doctor Etienne de Wolfe."

I see her look of delighted surprise. And nod.

"Yes. Doctor. It seems to run in your family. Healers and spiritualists. I like this man. I feel a kinship with him somehow. And, I do believe he has already fallen under the spell of true love."

"Really? How do you know this?"

"He asked if I was the baby's father and, if not that, then Christine's paramour?"

"Paramour? Oh, of course, lover."

"I told him some of her story and he seems quite interested in her. He was quite relieved when I told him that Christine and I are devoted friends and nothing more. I also told him and my father as well that I am engaged to be married. I told them that you would be arriving shortly."

I run my eyes up and down the length of her body and sigh. I retrieve my rumpled undergarments and pull them on. Shake out my trousers and step into them. From my position on the bed, I cannot spy my shirt. So, I recline back on the bed.

"What a shame! I must find something suitable to cover up your nakedness as we cannot remain forever within the confines of my father's boudoir."

"I have a request, dearest."

I pull my eyes away from swell of her breast to look into her eyes and I fall into them.

A flash of lightning.

A clap of thunder.

I blink and shake my head. We are lying on her bed.

She jumps from the bed and swiftly closes the door. I notice she has clothing laid out. The midnight blue brocade skirt and maroon silk blouse are the colors she most loves to wear. She quickly dons the undergarments and I help her lace the corset. She pulls on the blouse and fastens the pearl buttons. She lifts the skirt with it small bustle over her head and lets it slide down into place. I fasten the buttons on the skirt. She picks up her black boots. The boots appear so innocently fashionable and yet hold her throwing knives and she pulls them on. She takes two strands of hair from either side of face and pulls them to the back and fastens them together with a jeweled hair barrette. She opens her closet and takes a box down from a shelf. She opens it and I see a woman's riding hat with black veil attached. The top and brim of the hat are black and the side of the hat wrapped with a pale olive green fabric that has small pink buds scattered about it. The side of the hat brim has a maroon print bow, a large dark red flower and pale maroon feathers. I am not sure why, but the hat surprises me. It is so utterly feminine with its flowers and feathers. My beloved has not shown much interest in items of feminine finery. I make a mental note that perhaps no one has ever tempted her with such things. If she bought this hat for herself, I must discover other things she secretly wishes for; then indulge her myself. She arranges the hat on her head and checks her reflection in the mirror. She seems satisfied with the image she sees. I know I am. The sight I see before me makes me long to disrobe her, but I withstand the temptation. She replaces the hat box and then changing her mind removes it once more. Holding the hat box in one hand, she bends and picks up her valise from the corner and turns to me.

"How do I look?"

"Perfect. My perfect fiancée." I let her see how my approval strains for release from my trousers. She shakes her head and grins at me.

"Tonight, dearest. Tonight. We must return to your father's before Trystin notices I am here. It will break her heart to have to say goodbye to both of us."

I stand and walk to her. She bends and places the hat box and valise on the floor between us.

"We cannot allow that. Today my women must be happy."

I take her hands in mine and raise my eyes to her. We fall.

A flash of lightning.

A clap of thunder echoes about us.

I hear a loud knocking and turning in the direction of the sound realize we are once again in my father's room. We both turn and look at the disheveled bed and grin.

"Oh dear! What should we do?" Christine hisses.

"Well, I did tell him I need to get some sleep, so the bed's state is expected. What is not expected is having an unmarried woman with me in my father's boudoir. I suggest you hide over there is a closet." I cherish this moment for my unflappable lady is definitely flustered. "Do not forget your bags, mon chére cœur!"

She gathers up her things and rushes to the closet. I notice that while she has taken refuge there, she has left the door partially open so she can overhear whatever happens next.

I look about and finally see my shirt on the floor half way across the room. Interesting. I pick it up and throw it on, but do not fasten it.

I pull open the door and almost have a fist pound my face. My father gasps and lowers his hand. I am alarmed to see the flush on his face and hear his ragged breathing.

"Father! What is it? Whatever is the matter?"

I take him by the arm and let him lean on me to catch his breath. He casts a loving and grateful glance at me. I smile encouragingly.

"Christine has awakened. She is distraught and calls for you. Please come at once!"

"I will be with you in a moment. Please allow me to dress. I shall only be a moment. Would you be so kind as to give me just a moment of privacy?"

"Of course, of course. But, please do hurry. She is most urgent in her requests!"

"Yes, I will be but a few moments."

I close the door. My dear heart exits the closet with worried eyes.

"It cannot be that bad. I am still here." She says.

"I agree. It must be the strain of all that has happened. She needs a familiar face. But what are we to do about you?"

I pull on my socks and then stamp into my boots. Christine finger combs my hair and then nods at my shirt. Sighing at my confusion, she buttons it for me. She gives me an appraising look.

"Okay. You'll do. Go on. Don't worry about me. I will make my escape and return to make my proper grand entrance. Go on. Really. I've been studying the layout of the chateau and of the surrounding area. There are plenty of secret passages by which I can make my getaway. Go! She needs you!"

She leans into me and embraces me tightly. I reach down and tilt up her chin. Our lips touch much too briefly for both of our liking. She smiles at me and I feel her soul caress me. I return her caress. She pats me on the bottom and shoes me away.

"Go! Go! I should arrive in less than an hour."

And with that she retreats to the closet once more.

I open the door and find my father leaning against the wall. His color worries me.

"You should not have run here. You should have sent someone. Father, please promise me that you will take better care of yourself. Please?"

On hearing the real concern in my words, his eyes shine with happiness and his coloring improves. He takes in a great breath and slowly blows it out.

"Very well. Since my son seems to wish my presence here on this earth awhile longer, I shall endeavor to grant his wish."

We smile at one another and it feels good. Very good.


	29. Erik Gustave de Chagny

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Twenty-Nine – Erik Gustave de Chagny**

I return to the room where I had left Christine and see a flurry of activity outside her room. A maid is sweeping fragments of glass into a dust bin and another is scrubbing something from the wall. I enter the room to find the chatelaine sitting on the edge of the bed holding Christine's arms in an attempt to prevent her from leaving the bed.

"Christine! What in the world? What do you think you are doing?"

"Oh, Erik! Erik! I really am with you. I awoke and thought Raoul had taken the baby and locked me away somewhere. I was so frightened. I did not know a soul around me and they would not let me see the baby. Where is my baby?"

I walk to the bassinet in the corner of the room and carefully pick up the child. He is so small, red and wrinkled, but he is also so very alert. He seems to look me straight in the eyes and smile. I cannot help myself. I smile back.

"Here he is. Lady, may I present to you your son."

"I have a son?" Tears spring to her eyes and she holds out her arms.

"Indeed you do, Christine. Here. Careful. He is very small."

I place the infant in his mother's arms and I see a celestial calm envelop her. She lowers her shift from her shoulder and offers her breast to the infant. I turn my eyes away.

"So, Lady, by what name do you intend to call this young man?"

"Monsieur, the name I have always intended for my first born son. His name is Erik Gustave de Chagny."

Her response shocks me. I can only imagine what le Vicomte's reaction to this name will be. She must have seen my body start with surprise.

"I realize it is not the proper thing to do and Raoul most likely will not allow it, but that is what his name will always be to me … Erik. My little Erik."

I incline my head to her.

"I am honored, Lady. May he grow up strong and worthy of his lady mother."

She continues to hold the child to her breast and I continue to avert my gaze.

"Really, Erik. You need not look away. Women do this all the time."

I look at the floor and reply, "Perhaps, but I am unused to such things, so you will have to pardon me if I cannot. I find it disconcerting. Please leave it at that."

To change the subject, I decide to tell her about my beloved.

"Christine, I have more wonderful news. Would you like to hear it?"

"Of course, what news would you like to share with me?"

"My beloved will be arriving within the hour."

"_Your_ Christine? Here? In less than hour? That is wonderful news. I am very happy to hear you are to be reunited with her."

Even though the words speak of her happiness for me, I do not hear it in the sound of her voice. Her voice sounds clipped and formal. Puzzled, I ask.

"What is wrong, Christine?"

She remains silent. A suspicion crosses my mind. I dismiss it, but it returns.

"Do you think I shall abandon you now that my beloved is here? Do you think she would? We would never do that. We are both pledged to your safety. We will not ever abandon you to le Vicomte. Not ever! My father has granted you asylum here for as long as you desire." I lower my voice and continue. "Also, there is another here who seems to care about your well being as much as we do. Your good doctor. Dr. de Wolfe is quite taken with you. And asked if I was a rival for your affections. I informed that I am not as I am engaged to be married. He was rather relieved to hear this news. I also believe he has heard some rather unflattering rumors regarding your husband. What they were I have no idea. I believe he breakfasted here, checked on you and returned home."

I turn to the chatelaine.

"When will Dr. de Wolfe return?"

"He should be returning very soon. He went home to change his clothes and pack a bag. I believe he thinks it best to remain here for a few days to keep a close eye on his patients."

I wink at the chatelaine and she smiles broadly back at me. The thought crosses my mind unbidden that a short time ago this woman would never have smiled at me much less wink at me. I think, "God bless my beloved for giving me my life. No for giving me a life."

The woman lying on the bed ignores the two of us and begins to hum wordlessly to her child. The chatelaine and I exchange smiles. It feels good.

A manservant comes to the open doorway and clears his throat.

I turn to him.

"Yes?"

"Excuse me, monsieur. But, the master sent me for you. There was a young lady at the gate requesting admittance. She gives her name as Christine Maire and that she is your betrothed. The Master admitted her and she awaits you in the foyer." The man bows and retreats.

I call after him, "Thank you for this wonderful news!" Then returning my attention to the lady sitting in the bed, I continue, "Christine, please excuse me. I will fetch my lady and return with her so that the two of you may meet." She remains silent, so I begin again. "Christine?"

"Erik," she cuts me off roughly, "Go fetch your lady. I will be pleased to make her acquaintance. If you love her and she must be special indeed. Go ahead. Silly man, go!"

I hesitate just a moment longer as I am confused by her tone, but when she dismisses me with her hand, I fly to the foyer. I burn for this moment. The moment I can announce that this beautiful woman has consented to be my bride. That she is betrothed to me. To know she is mine and desires only me is a feeling still strange and new to me. I wonder if I will ever become accustomed to the thrill of her touches on both my body and my mind. I make a solemn oath that I will not take a single day with her as granted as fate has shown that our lives together are anything but certain. Our joining has caused the very fabric of time to rip, but I am a new convert to the philosophy that love conquers all. And I will never forsake this woman or her child.


	30. A Formal Introduction

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Thirty – A Formal Introduction**

By the time I arrive in the foyer, I am panting not so much from running but from thoughts of my Christine and our lovemaking. I think, _"I should have worn my coat."_ I stop just outside the last archway and make a vain attempt at calming my arousal. I breathe deep and try to relax and after a few moments, find that while my state is noticeable, it may pass a cursory inspection.

"_It will just have to do."_

I enter the foyer and wonder how on earth Christine got out of the house and to the other side of the drawbridge so quickly. _"She'll have to tell me the trick of it later."_

There she stands every inch of her looking the perfect picture of a lady. Everything about her is neat and clean, not a hair out of place. She stands with her hands demurely clasped before her looking up at a portrait hanging on the wall. She hears me enter, but does not turn. _The little minx!_ My father walks to her and murmurs something into her ear. She nods and makes a short reply. He guides her away from the portrait by cupping her elbow with his hand and holding her wrist with the other. They turn and saunter towards me.

My father calls out to me.

"Erik! Look what I found ringing the bell at our gate? Is she not lovely? Oh! How silly of me! You two have met, have you not?"

I take hold of my beloved's hand, gaze into her eyes and then gently kiss her on the cheek. I gain strength and composure from her serenity. I release her hand and begin my introduction.

"Father, I would like to present to you the woman I intend to make my wife. I am most pleased to introduce you to Christine Jean-Marie Maire." My father gives Christine a slight nod of his head.

"Christine, I am most pleased to present to you my father, Jean-Paul le Comte de Mornay."

My father takes Christine's hand and kisses the back of it.

"Mademoiselle, may I say that I am certainly most pleased to make your acquaintance." He raises his eyes to meet hers as he lifts his head away from her hand. I notice how his eyes sparkle and his mouth curls into a rakish grin.

"Monsieur le Comte de Mornay, I am most pleased to meet you as well. And I thank you for the precious gift you have given me. The gift of your son." She performs a perfectly executed old court curtsy, which brings her within inches of the floor and spreads her skirt out in a wide circle about her. Her head remains erect, her mouth forms a joyous smile and her balance is perfect. Again, I think, "_I had no idea._"

My father glances at me and raises an eyebrow as a sign he is impressed.

My Christine rises from the curtsy and stands. She walks directly to me and kisses me chastely on the mouth while her eyes twinkle at me with mischief.

"I greet you my dearest. I have sorely missed you and I am so happy to be quit of traveling."

She turns her amazing eyes on my father who seems entranced by her.

"So, now I can see for myself. My Erik does take after you. And if I were a wagering sort of woman, which I most definitely am not I would take odds you two could be a set of matching bookends if the two of you were of an age."

She sweeps forward and takes his hands in hers and kisses him once on each cheek.

"I am so very pleased to make your acquaintance. I do not mean to be forward or put you out, but …."

She stammers with pretty embarrassment and I swear I can see a blush blooming on her cheeks.

She continues. "I have no wish to appear rude or uncouth, but I have been in the carriage since early this morning traveling here without a rest stop. I would very much appreciate it if someone could show me where I may freshen up a bit."

"Oh my dear girl! I beg your forgiveness! I have become quite unused to guests, so please excuse my lack of manners." He clears his throat and continues. "Would you please allow me the honor of escorting you to your room?"

Christine flashes a coquettish smile at my father as he whisks past me and takes her by the elbow and leads her up the stairs. I follow in their wake and smile as I see my lady working her charm on my father. She listens intently as he tells her anecdotes about the château as she occasionally pats playfully at the hand he has on her arm.

She stuns me with her ability to fit in anywhere she is and to make everyone around her feel important and comfortable. For a moment I feel a stab of jealousy, until I realize it is her way of protecting herself from the empathic cacophony in her head. She fits in because she feels what the other person feels and she responds. I marvel at how kind she is and wish I could be more like her. I never cared for the feelings of others as I had always thought only of myself. No one cared a whit for me, so why should I care for others? I expected their horror at my presence and always found it. I always found it until the moment Christine laid eyes on me. In her eyes I found the acceptance I had always wanted. Perhaps, if I had expected better of people I would have found it. Perhaps ….

I whisper a prayer of thanks deep within my soul, "_Thank you, God._ _Thank you for allowing us to find one another. I will try every day to be worthy of her. Please do not let me fall into the fatal trap of taking her as something granted for she is not. Help me to remember that she is a treasure that I must earn every day for the rest of my life. God help me! I do love her so!_"


	31. Mother's Room

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Thirty-One – Mother's Room**

Following in their wake, we find ourselves outside a door I have yet to enter. Lost in thought, I am not certain just where in the chateau we are, so I await the opening of the door with a sense of pleasant curiosity.

"This is the room I would like you to make yours while you stay here, my dear." My father says to her. "This was Erik's mother's room. I think she would be very pleased to have Erik's bride-to-be stay here."

I feel a knife thrust of panic and pain radiate from Christine. I attempt to use my mind to comfort her, but I am uncertain on how to go about this. For a moment I have a horrible picture of Christine refusing to enter the room. She amazes me with her poise and grace and acting ability as she floats into the room. Everything about her seems to show an air of pleasure and curiosity. If I had not felt the knife edge myself, I would never have had any idea she in truth did not want to enter this room. My father completely unaware of Christine's discomfort is graciously showing her about the room. Through our bond I feel the panic turn to pain and decideI must rescue her from this place. Although, I like my father believe my mother would want Christine to have her room there is something about this pleasant room, which is causing my dear heart pain. I think quickly.

"Father? I believe Christine wished to use …."

"What? Huh? Oh my dear! How thoughtless of me especially with the two of you being so gracious. Well, I believe you two young people would like some time alone, so I will leave you in the capable hands of my son. He will show you the way. When you are refreshed I would be extremely pleased if you and my son would join me for the midday meal. Erik, would that be agreeable with you?"

"Very much, father."

"That settles it. I dine at half past one. Oh, we only dress for dinner, dear." He gently presses Christine's hand to his lips and retreats from the room with a knowing smile at me that I acknowledge with a slight nod. I hear the soft click of the door behind me. I run to Christine as she slumps to the floor holding her head with both hands.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Her eyes well and huge tears stream down her cheeks.

"My God, Christine! What is it?"

"Oh," she almost wails. "She is so sad! Was so sad! I swear her despair and pain are so strong I almost cannot bear it. She loved you so very much and it almost destroyed her when she lost you! This room throbs with her pain. I correct myself. Please help me leave this place! I cannot bear it! Please remove me from this place for I cannot see the way! Uh!" She groans.

She casts her arms out seeking me as if blind. I consider the copious tears pouring from her eyes and running down her cheeks and I think she just may be. Again, I marvel at her strength and compassion. Before I met this wonder and became whole, I never considered the feelings of others as I always assumed they had no concern for me. A thought occurs to me and I wonder what my beloved felt from me on our first meeting. It causes me a moment's pause. I had never thought to include myself among the assaults on her psyche. My poor Christine! What an assault I must have been! The rage and sorrow I was feeling when we first met was almost unbearable for me. She never gave a sign of discomfort and sought only to console me. And then, in spite of everything she felt radiating from me, she loved me anyway. I feel lost in a wave of overpowering love for this woman. My miracle of love.

She raises her blind eyes to me and blinks. An uncertain smile slides wavers on her lips and then slides away. I help her to her feet and lead her from my mother's room. I wrap my arm protectively about her and support her faltering steps. So many things I never knew. Christine's words to me are a wondrous revelation, but one I would have foregone if I could have saved my beloved from this pain. I firmly close the door behind us.

"I will explain this to my father somehow and ask you be lodged elsewhere. Here, let me help you to the commode." Trying to lighten the mood. "It is a good thing you don't wear makeup mon chére cœur."

"Yes, what a fright I must look already. Thank you, my dearest. I need just a moment. I'll pull myself together as quickly as I can."

"You could never be a fright. Believe me, I know. Take as long as you need mon chére. I have nowhere else I would rather be than here with you." I plant a gentle kiss on the top of her head. Her steps are wobbly and small sobs occasionally escape her lips.

"Christine?"

"Yes, Erik?"

"How could you love me?"

"How could I not? Do I need air to breath so I may live? Yes. You are the same. When we met I knew you were the air for me to breath for the rest of my life. And each moment since I fall ever deeper in love with you. Erik, people say things like you complete me! Or we are two halves of the same person! Or we are soul mates. Well, oddly enough, we share the a soul. I am the female and you are the male. There can be no other for me ever. I may be empathic and prescient, but I have never been given forewarning of my tragedies or triumphs by the powers that be. No, I always knew my life was wrong somehow, but try as I might I could not unravel the mystery. I convinced myself to love and even when I knew it was not right, I married anyway. And when I was unhappy, I lied to myself. I told myself I asked for too much or expected too much. That what I had was the best I could expect. And then, Trystin was born. She helped fill the void, but still something was missing. That something was someone. That someone was you. You were the missing part of my life. I missed you. I knew you not, but I have missed you my entire life. I love you and Trystin more than my life. As I said, I could sooner do without air then either one of you. No matter how many lives I live, my soul will never again forget that you are required if I wish to breath. I will seek you out lifetime after lifetime and I will love you always."

Her words bring her strength and she is able to stand on her own. She halts suddenly and turns to me.

"Do you not feel the same?" Her eyes search mine, wide and frightened. The evidence of her recent tears still fresh in them.

"Oh! My beloved, yes!" I pull her within the circle of my arms and embrace her tightly. "I never thought to love anyone much less have someone love me. And you loved me as I was. You loved me and you wanted me! You loved me for myself. When you looked at me you did not see a monster as all those before you did. I did not have to hypnotize you to lull your fear. You had none. You are my miracle. Yes! You are my miracle. I have never loved another. I had never hoped to love or be loved. Yet, unasked and unhoped for you came and gave your love to me freely. I live only to love you and Trystin. You are mine and so is she. Wife and daughter. We only lack the social trappings of marriage, but our soul is married. Yes! Christine! Yes! I feel the same as you. I love you always."

As I hold her close to me, I feel her heart beating wildly in her chest and know she must feel mine beating in the same way. I do not want her to think that I want her only for the acts of love she offers me, but I am a man and my love always seems to become physical. Holding her close to me and feeling her heart beating wildly brings me erect. I cannot help myself. I want her. I need her. My comforting embrace tightens into one of need and I grind myself into her. We both moan. Hearing her moan with me incites the fires of the furnace within me. She wants me just as I want her. I feel the invisible fingers of her mind caressing the length of me. I need her so. My eyes close and I lower my mouth to her neck. My lips taste the sweetness of her. I want to be inside her, our bodies joined in love. I am only truly alive when I am inside her. I cannot stop the torrent of desire for her that floods my body. Groans escape me that I cannot stop. Oh this woman! I will never be able to love her enough. I will never be able look at her without wanting to be inside her. As we are joined together as one soul, my body desires to be one with her. I cannot stop my lust for her any more than I can stop my love for her. I find that I have backed Christine up again the wall. My need is urgent and uncontrollable. And although we are both fully clothed and stand in an open hall, I thrust myself against. Over and over. I seek for her. And this miraculous woman responds to my thrusts with those of her own. I am lost in my need of her. My hands roam wildly over her body pulling her closer to my need and my lips afire with love devour hers. My mind tells me to stop, but my body cries for more. My hands begin lifting her skirts. God help me! I am going to take her here in the hall of my father's home. Her desire is as great as mine is.

Her body freezes mid-thrust and her breath ceases.

"Someone is coming. I feel them. Erik, please. We must go now or my reputation here will be ruined."

I stop and reluctantly release her. She is correct. If a servant sees us rutting in the hall, she will be branded forever a harlot.

"They come the way we arrived here."

She answers my question before I have time to speak it.

I take her hand in mine. "This way."

Fortunately, the commode is further down the hall, but not too much farther. I open the door and we both enter. She places both hands on the vanity and hangs her head. I hear her breathing, rapid and erratic and it fans the flames, which already burn bright. She holds up a hand and wags a finger at me. Her face is flushed bright crimson and glows with a sheen of perspiration. Any fool looking at her face and hearing her shortness of breath would realize what we had been doing. She takes a deep breath and slowly blows it out her mouth.

"Breathe in pink. Breathe out blue. Breathe in pink. Breathe out blue." She murmurs this chant so quietly I almost do not hear it.

"Mon chére cœur? Do you speak to me?"

"Old joke, sorry!" She cocks her head as if listening and then reports. "Whoever it is has been sent to find us. Is it proper for you and me to be alone in my boudoir?"

"As long as we are fully dressed, have both feet on the floor and the sun is shining."

"Come here, my dearest. Finding the two of us in here is not a good thing, right?"

"Correct."

"All right. Erik, come here."

I walk to her wondering what she has in mind. She takes another breath and slowly blows it out. I hear her clear her throat. She turns to me, takes my forearms in her hands and looks deep into my eyes.

I am falling.

And a clap of thunder.

I blink for a moment and am surprised to find that instead of being in Christine's bedroom, we are back in my mother's room. Christine groans. Her hands grip my arms in a hold like two iron vises. Her eyes roll up until all I can see are the white of her eyes.

"Oh, Christine! Let's get you out of here."

She silently nods her head. And I beat a hasty retreat from the painful place half carrying my poor Christine. In the hall, she quickly draws herself up and releases my arms. The consummate actress, she places a pleasant smile on her face and turns facing the way we came. A chamber maid rushes toward us and drops a clumsy curtsey to us.

"Monsieur, the Vicomtessa is requesting your presence. Please come, Monsieur! She be very distraught!"

"Thank you. We know the way. You may go."

"As you wish, Monsieur." This curtsey wobbles even more than the last and the poor girl begins the fall. Christine gracefully puts out her arm and steadies the girl whose face is beet red.

"Beg pardon, Mam'selle." Before another word can be spoken, she turns and disappears from sight.

Christine sways and I steady her by wrapping my arm her.

"I'll be fine. Do not worry about me. I can walk. Shall we go see why Christine is distraught?"

"Yes. Something was wrong when I left her, but she would not say what. She was very short with me." I shake my head. "I've never heard her use that tone with anyone, but then again, people can change quite a bit in ten years. I suppose."

"My darling, you are certain that you are not in love with her, true?"

"Yes."

"Are you certain that she is not in love with you?"

Her words stop me dead in my tracks. "Am I what?"

"Now, dearest, think. When did she become short with you? What were you talking about? Think."

I begin walking again and think back to our conversation.

"I was talking about Etienne and how he seemed interested in her. Then a manservant came and said you had arrived. And, uh, yes, that is when she became cold and abrupt."

"Dearest, it is possible she _thinks_ she is in love with you. You are her knight in shining armor. The only person that has actually tried to save her from le Vicomte. She has convinced herself that the two of you were meant for one another. And my presence interferes with her fantasy, but I will know if this is true when I meet her. I just thought you should know that this is a possibility. Erik, I could be completely wrong. I just feel it's impossible for her not to be in love with you. After all, I found you irresistible, didn't I?"

I squeeze her hand. "You are different. You are the only one that ever found me that way. But, we will see. Christine, may I ask you something?"

"Of course, dearest. What it is?"

"How did we move from the commode to my mother's room?"

"Oh! Pretty cool, huh?"

She must have seen confusion on my face.

"Sorry, I will rephrase. Good magic trick?"

"Indeed. So, I take it you did that?"

"Well, the last couple of times we traveled I concentrated on feeling the energy that moved us between worlds. In my mind I created a door leading to the energy. When we needed to be elsewhere, all I did was concentrate on your mother's room a place I had been and knew. I opened the door to the energy and led us through to your mother's room. I would rather have gone someplace else, but the only other places I know here are your father's room or places which are too public."

"Have you tried this before? Or is that how you found your way to the front gate so quickly?"

"Oh no, this is the first time I tried that. I used these to get to the front gate." She bends and from a hidden pocket in her skirt she removes the claws she had taken from Su's shop. She smiles angelically at me and returns the wicked looking things to her pocket.

"Just used good old-fashioned ninja know how."

"Should I be upset about what we just did?"

"Only if you think I would risk both our lives."

"No … no, I know you would never do that, my beloved." We share a smile.

She appears to be completely recovered from the effects of my mother's room, but it never hurts to inquire.

"You look better are you or are you putting on another face?"

"I am quite recovered now, thank you, dearest. Just a little fatigued and the beginnings of a headache. Are we almost there?" A pause. "I think I feel her."

"I am most pleased to hear you are alright. We must avoid that room or find a way to clear it of my mother's sorrow."

"I have been thinking about that dearest. The only way would be to heal it."

"But it is too late for that now."

"Is it? You and I were separated by years and universes. It did not prevent us from finding one another. Perhaps I could use the door to take you to your mother?"

My voice catches in my throat and a croak escapes my lips. She smiles at me.

"We'll speak more of this another time, alright?"

"Yes, beloved. We most definitely will. Christine's room is that door there on the right."

"Would you like me to wait here in the hall?"

"No! I will not hide you from her nor mislead her about you. You are my love and she needs to realize, if you are correct in your guess, that I love you and I have always only ever been a friend to her and nothing more."

She smiles her gratitude.

"Well, be gentle. She has had to live with a loveless and abusive marriage for ten years. If I had been forced into that fate, I would have created a great love to help me through it too."

"We will be gentle. Will you tell me if your guess is correct?" I tap my forefinger to my forehead.

"Of course." She gives a small shake of her head. "You have accustomed yourself to me there very quickly." She pauses. "Of course! I had forgotten. You and Madame have spoken this way for years."

"Yes, mon chére cœur. The quiet talk. No more delaying. Come."

"Very well."

I smile as I see her hand smooth her hair and she runs her tongue along her lips. Then she does something that is one of the little unconscious things that endear her to me, she bites her lower lip. That poor lip. She has bit it so often she has a small permanent purple spot there.

"Don't bite your lip." I tease. "May I take the hand of the most beautiful and wonderful woman ever?" I say with complete sincerity.

"Monsieur, I love you and I would be pleased to allow you the gallantry of escorting me for the rest of my life."

Her words fill me such inexplicable joy that I feel will burst. I make no reply, but she must have seen something in my face that pleases her for she plants a brief, passionate kiss on my lips. She then stands at my side and offers me her hand. I take her hand and with the other I knock on the door.


	32. What Just Happened?

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Thirty-Two – What Just Happened?**

The chatelaine opens the door and smiles until she sees I am not alone.

"She has been asking for _you_."

The poor woman places a slight emphasis on the word, _you_, but I ignore it and I lead Christine into the room.

The woman reclining on the bed is flushed and frowning. Her arms drawn tightly across her chest, she stares intently at my Christine. Her brown eyes seem a burning crimson red full of barely contained emotion.

The room is eerily quiet and leaves me feeling unnerved, so I decide to end the silence.

"Christine?" I begin and take a tentative step towards the bed.

"Hush, Erik." Says my beloved. She smiles at me gently and lays a finger to my lips. There is no reproach in her voice or manner. She lightly removes my arm from her waist. She gives my hand a squeeze then releases it.

She calmly bestows a serene smile upon the woman before her as she moves with a haunted grace to the bedside. My beloved's eyes lose focus and become an opaque jade green. An unnatural grace replaces her easy-going manner and she moves as if in a trance. The very air of the room becomes alive with quiet pops and hisses of electricity. The hairs on my head and arms respond to the static charge of the room by standing. The nervous chatelaine attempts to smooth the bedcovers. I act as silent witness to the miniature lightning bolt that shocks her hand as she touches the blanket. The woman shrieks, runs from the room slamming the door behind her.

I withdraw to the far side of the room in front of the tall windows and take a seat in one of the two armchairs. I cannot begin to guess what is about to happen here, but _something_ is. My main concern is not to interfere by being in the way.

My beloved speaks quietly with a voice wonderfully rich and fully round, a man's baritone issues from her lips, "Christine! Your namesake stands before you. Take assurance from her joyous love that all hope for you is not lost. You have more than earned your love. Rest assured that love is yours as well. Let go of your anger, your jealousy, your hate, your fear. You need not the protection of those things any longer. Be at peace in your heart. Love shall protect you. The time soon approaches. Your great love shall find you. You shall know that love. Christine! You have learned well. No longer are you blind to love. Love shall not pass you again!"

My dear heart places her hand over Christine's clenched right fist and strokes it lovingly. The fist opens, the fingers relax and Christine raises her hand her palm facing my Christine. My Christine raises her left hand. The two hands irresistibly draw together. As the palms touch, a brilliant white light erupts and surrounds the two women. The light forms a sparkling orb about the two, outside the orb the room bathed in a golden light. I sit completely bathed in this golden light feeling it sweep through me with wave after wave of peace and happiness. My Christine smiles. After a moment's hesitation, Christine smiles. However, her smile is forced and unnatural as she resists the light.

"Am I loved? By whom?" She spits her venomous questions into my beloved's face. The hissing words reverberate about the silent room attacking the brilliant orb surrounding the women. The orb succumbs to the assault and abandons the women too soon. The weaker golden light rushes to fill the void left by the orb. The golden light bathes the two women with its gentle peacefulness. Rage fills Christine's face distorting it. As I watch, I reconsider. Perhaps, it is something else altogether. Perhaps, it is fear. Yes, fear. Not rage. I watch the golden light wash the fear from her, restoring her familiar face.

And, yet her questions require answers.

The questions go unanswered.

My beloved staggers as Christine bows her head and her shoulders heave. My Christine seems to awake, her eyes blink rapidly as they return to their usual hazel with golden-brown ring. She sees her hand pressed to Christine's hand. She sees the other woman's distress and without hesitation, sits on the edge of the bed and pulls Christine into a warm embrace. My dear heart holds the distraught woman in her arms as if she were a child in need of comfort, rocking her and crooning softly into her ear. At last, Christine begins to weep. My Christine strokes Christine's hair and rubs her shoulder and back to comfort her.

That is when I witness something amazing. My beloved strokes Christine's head and each time she lifts her hands from Christine's body, she draws tendrils of black fog from her. I watch in horror as the blackness swirls about my Christine's arms and then enters her body. I watch as the woman I am to marry lovingly draws the pain of years of abuse and neglect from Christine. I watch the pain mark my beloved's face. Her face becomes a horrific, haggard, unrecognizable mask. At last her hands draw no more blackness from Christine. She releases the woman and stands. She inhales deeply, throws her head back and begins to exhale. She slowly expels the blackness from her body, releasing it into the golden light where it dissolves into nothingness. She sighs at last and I am relieved to see the beautiful features of her face restored, but she appears so very tired.

Christine's weeping has subsided into gently hiccupping sobs. The golden light swirls for a moment longer then winks out. The electrical charge leaves the room and the hair on my arms and head droops. Suddenly, the world seems a dull place after the miracle we just witnessed. I walk to the two women and place a hand on my beloved's shoulder.

Using the quiet talk, I ask, "_Are you alright?_"

She turns to me. I see a smile in her eyes and she gives me a slight nod.

"Christine? Christine? Awake, child. Come into the light. The darkness has left your soul. You belong to the light once more. Awake!" My Christine's voice is gentle yet there is an underlying power and command that is irresistible.

The woman who was once Christine Daae releases her hold on my lady and sits up. She gazes about the room as if for the first time. She smiles briefly at me. At last her eyes meet those of my lady's. They give each other a nod and then begin to smile. The smiles grow, becoming giggles, which grow to chuckling and finally erupt into gales of unrestrained laughter. It is a joyous sound. I find I cannot resist it and soon I have joined them in laughter. Suddenly, the baby begins to cry. We stop and look at one another only to have the laughter begin again. I laugh as I walk to the layette to retrieve the child. I still laugh as I place the tiny bundle into his mother's arms.

"The babe is not wet, so he most likely is hungry." I tell her and turn my head away.

After a moment I hear him hungrily suckling at his mother's breast.

I hear in my mind, "_Would you like a son or a daughter someday?_"

I must have given a start for my lady laughs again.

"_I do believe I said someday, my dearest."_

"_Perhaps, someday."_

"_Perhaps."_

She stands and watches Christine holding her child at her breast. She sighs.

"_I don't suppose baby bottles have been invented yet."_

I begin to ask, _"What is …?"_

"_Never mind." _Turning to me, she smiles.

I hold my arms out to her. She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow.

Aloud, she says, "You require my presence, sir?"

"Always, my love." I reply.

She walks to me and accepts my embrace.

"Are we too late for lunch? I am absolutely famished!" She inquires after snuggling in my arms for a moment.

"Let me see." I turn to the clock sitting on the mantle. "No, plenty of time. It is 1:15. Lunch begins promptly at 1:30. May I escort you to the table?"

"Just a moment." She turns to Christine. "Are you alright?"

"I have not felt this well since my days at the opera. I am so sorry I was rude to you. I was just so angry with you and, I will admit, jealous. Yes, jealous of you for having Erik. I am truly sorry for that. And yet, although I was horrible to you, you took away my pain." She directs this next at Erik. "You are right, Erik. She is very special and I am glad you found one another. Do I feel well? I feel as if I were a girl of sixteen again and could dance all night!"

She gives a chuckle then continues, "Erik, I know I told you on the train that I believe, but those were just words being spoken by my mouth. I can now answer with my heart. I believe."

"Madame, my heart is glad for you. Would you like us to ask the kitchen to send something here for you to eat?"

"No, I think will take a nap after Erik finishes rooting around here."

"Splendid idea. Well, then we will take our leave of you for now. We will look in on the two of you later this afternoon."

"Yes, Christine, I look forward to the two of us having a little chat."

She gives my lady a glorious smile then shoos us out of the room.

We stroll leisurely to the foyer. I release Christine and as she looks at me in confusion, I perform a courtly bow.

"May I have the honor of escorting you to dinner, my lady?"

She curtsies and replies, "Why, sir, I would be most honored."

I offer her my arm and she takes it.

"Lead the way, my love."

As we walk along the halls of my father's home, I turn to my beloved.

"I was going to ask you later, but I simply cannot wait another moment. Christine, what just happened in there?"


	33. Confessions, Conversations, Plans

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Thirty-Three – Confessions, Conversations and Plans**

"Dearest, you will not like my answer. My answer is … I do not know. I remember part of what happened, but … no, it's almost as if I skipped from one moment to the another. I have no sense of missing time. Although, I'm fairly sure I am. My body may have been there, but I was not. I do not know what happened to either of your Christine's. I've never felt anything like it before. And, I have no wish to feel it again. The things that I can do. I've never spoken to you of them, but I believe now is as good a time as any."

She stops and leans against the wall. Her gaze serious and I think somehow sad.

"I inherited my abilities simply from being my mother's eldest daughter as they pass from one generation to the next. My mother turned her back on her gifts. It frightened her. She was not an empath or prescient as I am. I do not know if there is a term that describes my mother's gift. My grandmother called it, "pushing." My mother could push people into doing her will. My mother never purposefully used her gift, but sometimes, when she was in the grip of an overpowering emotion, she would slip and things would happen." Christine shudders. "Anyway, my grandmother was a healer. She was the one who taught me how to protect myself." She pauses. "Did I tell you that I'm the oldest of six children?"

"I seem to remember you speaking of siblings."

She nods. "Yes, well, I have three brothers and two sisters. The oldest of the boys has what was called in your time, _dementia praecox_ and is now called, _schizophrenia_. I was born nine months and eight days after my parents married; my brother, ten months after me; my sister, ten months after my brother. My brother's violent temper focused on me and my mother feared for my safety if I remained at home. She told me she loved me so much that she had to send me away. My maternal grandparents took turns with my godparents raising me. I spent most of my childhood living away from my parents. It seemed every time I would come home for a visit, something dreadful would happen. The scar on my left forearm, my hearing loss, the scar on the back of my right calf and the three concussions are but a partial list of the injuries inflicted on me by my brother. And yet, I feel fortunate. My brother's disease sent me to the one place where I could learn how to use my gift. If I had stayed with my parents, I most likely would have gone insane from the noise inside my head. My grandmother saved me from that fate. I love my grandparents very much." Her eyes brighten. "You will like this. My grandfather had a special name for me. He called me, "his dolly girl." It made me feel good." She chuckles. "It still makes me smile whenever I think of it. Yes, I am very lucky. It could have been much worse."

"I do not know what to say. You were turned out of your parent's home. Sent away from your family and yet, you make it a good thing. I would have hated my parents for sending me away."

"How could I hate them? My mother refused to have my brother committed to an institution for the mentally ill. She couldn't send my brother to live with my grandparents because of he was difficult and sometimes, dangerous. However, she could send me away because I was the good one. Erik, she sent me away because she loved me. I may have been lonely as a child, but I always knew they loved me. So, it is alright."

We continue our walk in silence.

And, yet again, _I had no idea_.

We enter the dining room and I hear Christine's small gasp of surprise. Where the foyer is grand, beautiful and cold, this room is intimate and warm. There is an abundance of wood in this room, wood floors, wood paneling, wood dining table and chairs and an open beam ceiling. The large chandelier is even made of wood. I can feel Christine's eyes drawn to it. I look at it with fresh eyes and see the 5 tiers of candles. The artisan who crafted it created a forest of light. The center of the light is a sculpted pine tree. The top four tiers are the branches of the tree and have various birds and small animals resting on the boughs. The bottom tier is the ground below the tree. Running from the tree's trunk are large gnarled roots. The roots end in circles of ivy vines and rambling rose. More small animals are carved here, but these animals are not in repose. These are depicted frolicking along the roots and vines. The years of candle smoke have darkened the wood, but it gleams from just as many years of polishing. The candles fitted about the fixture are short and dark green.

I think, "They have always been dark green." The brings me up short. "Where did that come from?" I wonder silently.

"Good afternoon, sir. Thank you for asking me to dine with you. Your home is a marvel and while I realize I have seen very little of it. I believe this chandelier will always be my favorite. It is absolutely lovely." Christine says to my father.

"Come in! Come in! So glad you could make it. How is the poor little thing upstairs? She has been most upset. I have been quite worried."

"Yes, I can imagine you have been quite concerned. And, father, please do not take this the wrong way. Having the Comtessa de Chagny give premature birth to a son in your home without the Vicomte knowing his wife is here, I would agree that is quite a cause for concern. I realize I have placed you in a difficult position."

"Please, come in and sit. Erik, you sit on my right. You child, at my left. Please sit."

I lead Christine to her chair. I pull the chair out for her, she daintily sits and I push her chair to the table. As I walk around the table, I suddenly feel compelled to pause behind my father's chair. As I round his chair, I pause again, lean down and place a light kiss on his cheek.

"Good afternoon, father." I speak the words lightly and hope he knows what I would really like to say.

He turns to me and as our eyes meet, I am surprised to see his eyes are shining. He blinks back the happiness that threatens to spill from his eyes and clears his throat.

"Good afternoon, son."

With everyone seated at the table, he rings a small silver bell.

Servants begin their well-rehearsed dance of serving the mid-day meal.

I wait until the servants have withdrawn from the room and then resume our conversation.

"Father, just how far are you willing to go in this matter?"

"Erik, the lady requested asylum here and I have granted her request. I do not know any person of our station who would withdraw support from a petitioner. I plan to go as far as the lady wishes. If she wishes, she may take up residence here. Does she have other children? I seem to remember hearing she did."

"Yes, six daughters."

"My God! What is that man thinking? Is he trying to kill her? She is such a delicate thing. And seven children. I never would have thought it to see her. I suppose after his brother's death having a male heir was foremost in his mind, not his wife. Although, I must admit I am surprised that he married her in the first place. She is not descended of title."

I glance down at my soup bowl and clear my throat to cover my smile.

"That was the most polite way I have ever heard anyone describe a person of common blood. Really, father, the more I speak with you the more I regret that we have not been on good terms."

"That was hardly any fault of yours, Erik."

"Well, we have now and must be content with it."

"Yes, that we do and I for one plan to make the most of it."

"Back to the Vicomtessa. It is my belief that the only reason he married her is because he thought I wanted her. He was wrong. Christine and I caused him to believe we were in love, but that was simply a ploy that went horribly wrong. As I told you earlier."

"Yes. Yes. I remember. My mind becomes entangled in the fact he was willing to murder you. It is a spider's web my mind cannot escape. How he could believe he was above the law of both men and God. And, how could he believe you were of no consequence? Did he believe he could take the life of my son and there the matter would end?"

"Father, most people did not consider my life important. My face was still the one I was born with, not this one. To most, I was simply a monster not a man. Father, you yourself felt that way at one time. Do not blame them too much. I do not. With help of the woman sitting next to you, I have come to accept that is just the way of our world and I forgive them. As to the Vicomte, well, he does not know I am your son. Most only knew me as the Phantom of the Opera or the Opera Ghost. Only three people knew my Christian name. Two are a part of the theater's company, Christine and Madame Giry. The other is Monsieur le Vicomte. Not a one of them knew my surname."

When I mention Christine, my father blinks and his eyes shift in her direction.

"Forgive me, my son. I did not mean to air this matter before your intended."

"Father, there is nothing to forgive. My Christine knows. She met me as the monster. And yet, her eyes did not see me as one. Her eyes saw the man within the monster. She saw and sees me with the eyes of love. She sees me as a man. The man she loves."

I look across the table. She of the green-hazel eyes with the golden-brown rings is gazing at me. Her eyes brimming over with love for me. For me!

"Father, my lady loved me for myself when all others feared or abhorred me. I would ask for your permission to marry her. She is not of the blood, but her soul is noble. I pray you grant my boon."

"Erik, you ask a question to which your heart must already know the answer. Erik, did I not at the end marry your mother? She was a servant, but not to me. To me when I gazed at her she was my queen."

He holds out his hand to me and I take it. Then he turns to face Christine and holds out his hand to her. She grasps his hand in hers and smiles at him.

"I would be honored if you were to join with this man as his wife and live here as man and wife. And indeed I would consider myself both blessed and greatly honored for you to call me father."

"Sir, I desire almost nothing more than that, but there is only one thing I require for my life here to be perfect."

She looks in my eyes once more and I know who she needs. Who we need for our life to be complete. We need Trystin.

"Father, in my overwhelming love for this lady, I neglected to tell you something about my good lady that you should know. She married young and now finds herself a widow and has a seven year old daughter whose name is Trystin Ariel, which means, bold lioness of God. Trystin and I are well-acquainted and she accepts me as the man who will watch over her since her true father has been called to God. At this moment, she is under the care of the good Madame Giry. While the purpose of this trip was indeed two-fold, we thought it to contain an element of danger and would not risk our little angel."

I stop and wait for his reply to this new information. His response is immediate and my heart leaps with joy.

"Do you mean to tell me that I am a grandfather already and you didn't tell me? Erik! Well, then we must handle the matter of de Chagny at once. I wish to meet my granddaughter as soon as possible. Oh! To have children in the château again! I never thought … Erik! Christine! I am too happy for words!"

He pulls both of our hands to him and we are involuntarily pulled up out of our chairs. He places our hands together with his around ours.

"This morning I awoke old and alone. Now I am still old, but I am alone no longer. I have a family! I cannot wait to meet Trystin. So, my children have you set a date?"

He lifts our joined hands, presses them to his lips and then releases them.

Christine and I still stand facing one another across the table with hands clasped. I see my ring sparkling on Christine's finger and feel my smile grow. I never knew there were so many reasons to smile.

I bend over her hand and kiss it then set it free. We take our places at the table.

"Well? Have you thought about when at all? Perhaps you prefer one season over another? Wait! I have a grand idea! You can exchange your vows in our Chapel." He turns to me. "You remember the stained glass window, don't you? I remember when you were quite small the first word I ever heard you say was pretty and you said it about that window." Now her turns to Christine. "Oh, my dear, are you a Catholic? Our family is and Erik was baptized so I believe that qualifies him as one although I am quite certain the last time he went to mass was when his mother took him."

He looks so animated and happy that it makes me happy.

"Yes, sir. I was baptized a Catholic. However, my faith lapsed after the death of my first child. However, if it would please you and Erik does not object, I would not object to being married in your chapel. And winter is my favorite season."

"And you, Erik? What about you?"

"I leave all planning to my bride-to-be. I trust her judgment implicitly. I have no objection to being married in the chapel if the church has no objection to us."

"Oh, I assure you they will have no objections or they will have to answer to me."

We all laugh and return to eating.

I sense my father wishes to say something, but is hesitating.

"Yes, father? What is it?"

"Would you allow me to post the bans of your betrothal? We can announce a private ceremony to take place in December? I think a Christmas wedding would be a wonderful date to have as a wedding anniversary. Do you not think so too?"

Christine replies, "I have no objections to you posting our bans. Do you, Erik?"

I shake my head to indicate that I have no objections.

She continues, "I think a Christmas wedding would be lovely. Now, I have a serious question I must ask you sir. Would you do me the honor of standing in for my father by escorting me down the aisle and giving my hand in marriage to your son?"

I could kiss for her sweetness! The look on my father's face is one of pure bliss. He pushes his chair away from the table and stands before Christine. He bows to her and informs her he would be honored to stand for her father. He then turns and walks out of the room.

"Beloved, I believe you just made my father so happy that he is spilling tears of joy which he is too embarrassed for us to witness."

"I do believe you are correct, my dearest."

We once again return to our food.

Christine surprises me by speaking again.

"Dearest, how will we tell him that I cannot stay in Genevieve's room? I do not wish to insult him, but I cannot possibly spend the night in that room. Come morning my mind would be lost. My mind would wander lost in a pit of your mother's sorrow and I do not believe I could easily climb from that abyss. The only reason I bring it up is that after healing Christine I feel drained to my very core. I would like to take a nap. I wish I could sleep wrapped within your arms, but that most likely is out of the question, correct?"

"Unfortunately, yes, you are quite correct."

"I wish we were already married. I am relieved that your father did not require us to have a lengthy engagement. What are we going to tell people when they ask about the bride's family? That I was orphaned and do not know my lineage? Erik, we never really discussed remaining here or returning to my home. I do not mind either way, but what if my being here or Trystin's changes the future? I realize women are still considered property and of little consequence, but what if one of us bears a male child? That could indeed change the future. Oh! I am tired to the bone. I babble. Please, disregard my words. I will lay my trust in us. Being here with you feels right, but then being anywhere with you at all is a wondrous dream. I love you, dearest."

We smile at one another and I am startled to see dark rings around her eyes that were not there when we first sat to eat. Her smile is wan and the skin of her face seems drawn too tight. Her lustrous eyes dim. To feel ten years of pain in minutes. I cannot even imagine. As if on cue, my father returns with regained composure.

"Excellent! I was just going to look for you, father! I need to make a small request of you."

"Anything, my son. Just tell me what do you require?"

I smile at Christine.

"We are deeply honored and appreciate the offer of my mother's room for Christine's use, but could she use another room?"

"Certainly. May I ask why? It is the nicest room on the estate, after mine of course."

I hesitate and glance again at Christine. Her rapidly deteriorating condition is alarming and yet she still projects an aura of serenity.

"Her trip has left her quite fatigued and she was never able to freshen herself as we were summoned to the Comtessa's room. Could I explain as we walk to her new room?"

"Certainly. Now, I would like to make an offer and I will not take no as your answer. Christine, I would be most honored to have you stay in my room while you are here. I quite often sleep in Genevieve's room anyway, so I do not mind moving my things there. I miss her so and sometimes I can still catch her scent as I walk about the room although I'm sure it is my imagination. Come let us go. Christine, child, are you certain you are simply fatigued?"

He leans down to look more closely at her, but she turns her face and waves him off with a laugh.

"Really, sir! I will be quite all right after a long nap and a hot bath. Do not concern yourself. I will not let your son out of his promise to marry me that easily."

We all laugh again. I help Christine from the table and offer her my arm, which she accepts gratefully.

"So, do you mean to keep me in suspense? Oh, of course not. Ah! To be young and in love!" He teases.

"Father, have you any experience with spiritualists?"

"Erik, your mother was a gypsy and could read cards. She was quite accurate, so I keep an open mind because of her. After all "… there are more things under heaven and earth than are known in your philosophy, Horatio." Hmmm, my boy?"

"Yes, father. Well, Christine is a sensitive and she finds mother's room uncomfortable."

"In what way?"

"I only pursue this matter for I am concerned for your well-being."

"I will keep that foremost in my mind."

His face becomes sober as a judge.

"When Christine went into mother's room, she was almost overpowered by the … how should I explain it?"

As I pause, Christine interjects.

"I have heard stories of a person's emotions remaining in a place and haunting it. The person is not there, just the guilt, pain, anger, hate or fear the person felt. It is the force of intense negative emotions that remain. I have never given it much thought before today. Not until I stood before the door of that room. Your lady wife's room is ablaze with remorse, sorrow, guilt and that just to name a few. Even the happiness she felt after your marriage could not drive away the dreadful feelings in that room. Her feelings have become an entity separate of your dear Genevieve."

"I would urge you, sir, not to sleep in that room. The sorrow creeps into your soul. After sleeping there you cannot be refreshed or rested."

She hangs her head tired and frustrated at her inability to find the proper words.

"Sir, I do not say these things to bring you pain. Only to protect you. Please feel no guilt. She never blamed you. She loved you. Her love was the only saving grace in the room. Her love for you and your son."

My father stares hard into Christine's eyes. She meets his gaze with an unwavering intensity, which surprises me as I can feel her exhaustion. My father is the first to break and turn his eyes away.

"Well then something needs to be done about this. What do you suggest?"

His tone is neutral and I cannot be sure if he mocks her or is serious.

"Sir, this is beyond my ken. I only suggest no one use the room until someone who does know what to do is found. The room is only a danger to those within its walls. Its influence is confined to that room and will not spread. You may heed me or not, but I say this only to prevent you from sleeping there. You are too dear to lose so quickly."

And then the most amazing thing happens or at least I believe it to be amazing. My father blushes in response to her last words.

"Well, my dear, I believe you are sincere in that. And, to please you I will not sleep in the room. In fact, I will order it locked. Now, let us escort you to my room. You seem to be fading before my eyes. Erik, doesn't she … she's very pale."

My father is correct. Christine is fading.

"_I am losing my hold on your world. I need rest. I am exhausted."_ The voice inside my head is barely louder than a whisper.

Without another moment's hesitation, I scoop her up into my arms.

"Father, I am taking her to your room. Will you be coming up?"

I begin to take the stair two at a time.

"Careful! You fall down those and you will break both of your necks! No, you take care to your lady. You do not need an old man hovering. When you have a moment, I would like to continue our earlier conversation about the Vicomtessa."

"I will return as soon as I can."


	34. Of Petticoats and Corsets

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Thirty-Four – Of Petticoats and Corsets**

"I will return as soon as I can."

I call over my shoulder and with that I run up the landing, round a couple of corners and race down another hall. I pause for a moment before my father's bedroom door to catch my breath. I look upon the face of my beloved. Waves of relief wash over me as I take in the marvelous sight I hold in my arms. Thankfully, she is asleep. Her body feels solid once more and even better, her appearance has substance. I hit the door latch with my elbow and back into the door to open it. I notice the return of everything in the room to order after my earlier "nap" here.

I gently place Christine on the bed and then tenderly remove her shoes. I stand next to the bed and allow all of my senses to feast upon this vision of loveliness. My mind records the sight of her pulse beating along her neck, the smell of her bath soap and perfume, the sound of her peaceful breathing. The color seems to be returning to her cheeks, but she still has huge dark circles about her eyes. I want to undress her, but I am afraid it will wake her. And then, on the other hand, how can she sleep comfortably in all that? I make a mental list of the items of clothing available for me to remove. I decide I can remove her blouse, her stockings, her skirt, petticoats and corset. Removing those items should help her rest easier. I will never understand how women can abide being trussed up like they do.

Starting at the top, I pull her blouse free from the skirt and undo the buttons from the neck down. I take her wrist and find more buttons there. I unbutton the last four buttons and peel the silk from her body. I toss the blouse onto a nearby chair.

It feels strange to lift up Christine's skirt and look for her garter when she is asleep. I feel a little guilty as I peep under her skirt. I remind myself, this woman who swam naked in the lake before my home and then stood unashamedly before me wrapped only in the glory granted her by God. This woman with whom I have made love so many times. This woman. Mine! I remind myself that she is mine and has no objections to being nude in my presence.

My fumbling fingers find her garter and open the clasps. I slide one silk stocking from her leg. Then I move to her other leg and repeat. I neatly hang her stockings over the back of the armchair.

I roll Christine onto her side. Even though she cannot weigh more then seven stone, it is no easy task with the petticoats, ruffles and bustle. The row of tiny buttons on her skirt seems to never end. After the 25th button my fingers feel bruised. After the 50th they are numb. My fingers look red and raw as I finally undo the last one.

With the skirt now lying flat on the bed, I loosen the ties of her petticoats and pull it down and off. I carefully lift her up and pull the skirt from beneath her. The skirt and petticoats join the blouse and stockings on the chair.

Now to the removal of the corset. I have a vague notion of untying and unhooking something. I look at the delicate lace of the undergarment and marvel that I am here doing this. I untie the satin bow and begin to the work of loosening the laces.

"_How does this thing come off?"_ I think.

Upon closer examination, I discover that the laces on one side slip off small hooks. Finally, I work the stays loose. I gently lift Christine and pull the corset from under her. I toss it with the rest of her clothes on the chair.

I stare at her for a moment considering what else I can do to make her more comfortable. I smile and nod to myself. I bend over her head and carefully remove the pins and barrette holding her hair in place. These I place on my father's dresser. I take a moment to survey my work and satisfied, return my eyes to Christine. She looks so beautiful! I had nothing to do with that, but she does. Her breathing is slow and regular. And I swear the rings about her eyes are fading fast. She lies atop my father's bed in a chemise and pantaloons. I do not think I have ever seen a lovelier sight than my Christine lying on my father's bed. I take this moment and tuck it away with all of my other special memories of her.

Christine stirs and a slight shiver courses through her slender body. "_Fool!_ " I unfold the blanket from the foot of the bed and cover her with it.

I gather up her clothes and go to my father's wardrobe. I hang the skirt, petticoats and blouse on hangars in the wardrobe. I place her boots next to the bed just in case she needs them. Her stockings and corset I fold and place on the dresser next to her hair pins and barrette.

There! Done! I do not wish to leave her just yet, so I slide the armchair closer to the bed and sit down to keep watch over her.

This woman willingly took a decade of pain and suffering into herself for someone she does not even know. Why would she do that? I sit and think about that for a long time. Why? And then, the answer comes … she does it because she can and therefore, she must.

I memorize every detail of her face. The small freckle on her right cheek. The purple spot on the left side of her lower lip. And then I notice something I have not noticed before. A scar. She has a scar on her chin that runs along the right bottom edge of it. I know that was not there this morning. I feel the feather tickle of fear graze my mind and roughly brush it aside. I decide that the scar was there. I must not have noticed it, that's all.

"I wonder how that happened. We have many things yet to discover about one another. I look forward to it. I just wish this part done, so we could get on with living. I am so tired of waiting for my life to begin."

As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I feel guilty.

"No, I take it back. At least now I have a life to begin. Before Christine I existed, now I live. I have plans to make before we journey to Paris. Many plans."

Christine flings her hand out towards me and I see the flash of the diamonds from her finger. I stare at the ring watching the sparkling rainbow and begin to make a mental list of things I need to do. I drift off to sleep sitting in the chair next to my beloved with her hand in mine.

"Such peace I have never known until now …." I whisper contentedly.

I awaken to a gentle hand shaking my arm. I open my eyes and see my father kneeling before me. He touches his lips with his forefinger and moves his eyes towards the bed. I look at the bed and smile. Christine and I are holding hands. My father stands and moves toward the door and motions for me to follow him. I lower my head to her hand and place a kiss on it then release it and follow my father out of the room closing the door behind me.

I lean against the door and rub the sleep from my eyes. I feel my father watching me.

"You have something to say?"

"You realize you have the household gossiping about that young lady, don't you?"

"What? Why?"

"The two of you in there just the two of you. It's not wise, Erik. I think her a fine woman and do not wish to see her reputation besmirched. Especially not if you intend to visit here often or … and I hope this will be the case … intend to live here with me. The servants can be vicious if they do not respect someone, especially the women. I found this out the hard way with your mother."

"Thank you for your concern, but I believe once they meet Christine, well, they cannot help but love her. She just has this ability to win people over. You will see. If you haven't already. But, I believe you love her already, do you not?"

He chuckles softly.

"Yes, she is a constant surprise to me. I truly enjoy speaking with her. She is one of the most intelligent women I have ever met. Where was she born? I hear a faint accent."

"She was raised in the United States. Recently, she decided to visit France as she is descended from a branch of the family de Wolfe which emigrated first to Scotland in the mid-13th Century, then to Ireland, back to England and then on to the United States in the form of William Brewster, religious leader to the Pilgrims on the Mayflower."

"A very distant cousin to the de Wolfe? Now that is ironic. After all our years of feuding we have our own Romeo and Juliet. The innocent lovers."

His remark and the knowing smile in his eyes cause me to flush.

"Now, now! My boy, I am not judging you or your lady. Who am I to speak? Am I so wise? On what side of the sheets were you born? No, it is seeing you so happy. For a man your age you are incredibly naïve in such matters. Erik, I have but one request, do not allow your love story to come to the same end as Romeo and Juliet. Or mine for that matter. I could not bear it."

"Believe me, father, Christine and I have no intention of dying for love. We wish to live in love."

"My boy, I wish I had had your courage when I was your age."

He pats my arm and sweeping his hand in the direction of the foyer says, "Shall we?"

"Yes, let's."


	35. Fatherly Advice

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Thirty-Five – Fatherly Advice**

He links his arm through mine and his touch still shocks me. Where is my anger? The ever-present rage that seemed always to be ready to erupt at the slightest provocation, real or imagined. The last time my father and I parted company, I had sworn to kill the old fool and had told him that the walls of his château would not protect him from me. As he would not recognize me as his son, he too, would be unrecognizable to those who knew him once I had wreaked my vengeance upon him. I shudder at my arrogance and ignorance. And the memory of my own hatred repulses me.

My father's voice draws me from my thoughts.

"Erik?"

"Sorry. You were saying?"

"I just spoke with Doctor de Wolfe and he informed me that the Vicomtessa's condition has much improved. He feared the child's early birth had unhinged her mind. He said her actions swung between euphoric and catatonic. Marguerite, my chatelaine, informed me that the Vicomtessa was highly agitated after the birth and subject to fits of temper. Marguerite told me that nothing within her reach was safe when the mood took her. Afterwards, she would cry and demand you come to her. Marguerite says that she left the room for a short time during your last visit to the room. Upon her return the Vicomtessa seemed a completely different person … happy, considerate, kind, pleasant, no harsh or demanding word has crossed her lips since your last visit. The household staff has begun to like her, no, more than that. They already love her and her child. Marguerite said your lady was with you and something strange went on in that room, but she would not speak of it as whatever happened helped the Vicomtessa. What exactly happened in there? We have one Christine transformed and the other exhausted into a state of unconsciousness. Need I be concerned? I think so, yes. At the very least, I deserve to be informed of the goings on in my household."

"Father, I can honestly tell you that I am not entirely sure what happened between the two women today. However, if you asked me to hazard a guess I would say the baby's early birth triggered a nervous condition in the Vicomtessa. Now, you know that my Christine is an empath. Well, she felt the Vicomtessa's pain and used her gifts to help. She literally pulled from the Vicomtessa all of the pain and suffering she has endured during her ten year marriage to Monsieur le Vicomte. Father, if you had seen my lady's face. I hardly recognized her. It was so distorted deformed it was hardly a face, but she sent the pain away and all is well now. If I had not seen it with my own eyes I would never have believed it. Has the Vicomtessa spoken about it?"

"No. Although I have heard several of my servants remark about her much improved temper. Perhaps, you or your lady would be better suited to the task. And since your lady rests, I would very much appreciate it if you could speak with the Vicomtessa now, as we need to plan our attack on the Vicomte de Chagny. I am certain word is spreading via the household staff to the grounds keepers and outwards in an ever expanding spiral. Word most likely will reach Paris within a week. Perhaps as long as two, but no more than that, so we haven't much time. We need to know what the Vicomtessa wishes us to do on her behalf."

"Now, Erik, I feel I should provide you with counsel and warning about the choice the Vicomtessa may make. I have seen women return to loveless marriages even abusive ones because they feel they have no alternative. She may choose this. She has six other children to consider, so do not react with anger if she takes this path. Her decision will not be easy for her. Give her the love and support of a friend. You may try to steer her towards the best path, but in the end the choice is hers."

At first his words shock me. I had never really considered that Christine would return to the Vicomte. And yet, I hear truth in his words. The only power a woman has is her reputation and that depends on her marital status. A divorced woman has no social standing and no prospects. The custody of children always goes to the father. She would be dependant upon the support of friends, as she has no family. She may be too proud to accept what she may consider charity. The only reason I can think of that would steer her away from her husband would be love. I myself have only just discovered the power true love can wield.

"Thank you, father. I shall tread carefully."

"I know you will, son. If it helps you at all, please let her know that she and all of her children are most welcome to make this there home. I would truly welcome them. This place is simply too big to be this empty.

"Father?" I begin, but my voice falters.

"What is it, Erik?"

"I … Well, I have something I would like to do and need first, your approval and then, your help."

"Hmm … this sounds serious."

"Indeed. Very serious. I can attempt this only once."

"Sit, son. Tell me what it is you need. If it is within my power you shall have it."

Sitting, I take a deep breath, slowly exhale and begin to explain what I have in mind.

My father listens to my plan, interjecting every now and then to suggest alternatives. At last, I feel satisfied with the arrangements.

"Can this be done in time?"

"Erik, it will be done just as you have asked. Do not fear! I will not let you down. This is much too important! I will send Richard to Rennes as soon as I make this list and have him make the arrangements in Rennes and then wire instructions to Paris for the rest."

I jump from the chair and kneel before him.

"I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

We hug one another tightly.

"Well, go on now. Go speak with the Vicomtessa. Good luck, son!"

I give him a smile and take leave of him.


	36. Just Friends

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Thirty-Six – Just Friends**

My walk to Christine's room is all too brief and I find myself standing before her door with only a partially formed plan in my mind. My hand rises on it own and knocks on her door. A muffled voice from within the room bids me enter. I open the door and enter the room.

The vision reclining before me on the divan is resplendent in pink from the gown she wears to the color of her cheeks and lips. She radiates a peace I have never felt from her before, not even when she lived in the opera dormitories.

"Erik! Come in! I am so glad to see you. I did not wish to disturb you, but I have so wished to speak with you. How is your lady? She did a miraculous thing yesterday. I am forever grateful to her for helping me. I hope she does not suffer any ill effects."

I smile at the kindness and concern I hear in her voice and see in her eyes. My father's rumors seem to be true ones.

"She rests now. Your encounter taxed her greatly, but she assures me there will be no lasting ill effects. However, I am uncertain as to what exactly happened here. Her strength faded so suddenly I had not asked and she had not offered an explanation. She sleeps deeply now. When she shall awaken I do not know. Can you explain what transpired here?"

Her eyes cloud with concern and yet, I feel none of the anger or unhappiness evident to me since our first encounter on the train. She stands, walks to me, embraces me, releases me then turns away to look out the window.

"I am sorry, but I cannot explain any better than to say this. Your lady has a gift. She took away all the hurt from my soul. It seemed I awoke from a walking nightmare of anger, sorrow and pain. The nightmare that began on the rooftop of the opera house when Raoul attacked me. The night I lost my maidenhead to his rape. The nightmare lifted briefly when you tried to free me. The night I made the choice to become his wife to save your life, the nightmare consumed me. I have not been truly free of its grasps ever since. Please, Erik, do not feel guilt over my choice. I could not bare the thought of any more deaths that night, especially not if I could prevent it. Too many innocents died that night. All those deaths laid at my feet, my cowardly feet. He is to blame! Not you! Not me! He made his choices and he will reap the harvest of what he has sown when he stands before God on his judgment day."

"I feel reborn. I remember everything that has happened to me, but the pain of it touches me no longer. It cannot hurt me any longer or maybe I should say the pain is gone. I am sorry that I cannot explain any better. Your good lady took away my sorrow and gave me peace. I am happy and free. When she awakes and has a moment, would you convey to her my thanks and my request to see her?"

"Of course. I am certain she will wish to see you as well."

"Thank you, Erik. For everything. You are a true friend. The truest friend anyone could ever have."

"Silly Christine, do not thank me for my friendship. You offered me your friendship when no other would, so we can spend hours thanking one another for something that we each gave freely or just accept that it is simply the way of friends. I believe we should accept and move on."

"Friendship accepted monsieur."

"Yes, Madame, friendship accepted indeed."

I take a deep breath before I begin to broach the subject of her husband.

"Christine …."

"Yes, Erik. I know what it is that we need to discuss. May I tell you what I would like to do first? And if you have any counsel, you may offer it when I finish?"

"Why certainly. After all ladies first."

"I have spent the last few hours thinking and would like to make a request of your father. Do you think he would allow me to stay here for a time? I am very aware he has no obligation to help me, but he seems like a kind man. Due to my uncertain marital status, I seek a place of residence for my brood. Regarding my children, their births and the hope of their love have been what sustained me through the years. However as the years passed, all of my hopes for them lay dashed upon the floor one after another. Raoul never allowed me much contact with them. After their births, he hired a wet nurse for them. Then he hired whatever their age required be it nanny or governess. The truth of it and I would never admit it before now is I do not know these children. When I think of them, I feel numb. I know I gave them life, but Raoul made sure I would never be their mother. I feel more for my dear little Erik whom has been a part of my life for mere hours than I feel for all of the others combined. Do not mistake my wishes regarding them though, if I were allowed a chance to become their mother, I would gladly take that chance."

"Which brings me to the next request would he allow me to keep Erik with me? I will not lose this child to Raoul! I know when God calls each of us before his throne, he judges us accordingly. Yet, I know that if I allow Raoul to take this child, I am equally guilty of corrupting another innocent life. I must try to save Erik. It would be a mortal sin to turn over this innocent life to Raoul when I can save him. All I have to do is forsake my pride and for this child I do it gladly. And I must make a confession to you. While your lady relieved me of my pain, she did not leave me a saint. I am not above wishing some pain of Raoul. If he knows he sired a son, a son he cannot see, I can extract some small measure of vengeance on him for the years he forced me to be his wife. I know this is horrible, but I cannot allow him this. He will corrupt this child and make him just as he is."

She turns to me with urgency and takes my hands in hers.

"I will not give him what he most desires! If he pursues me even to the ends of the earth, he shall not have my little boy! I despaired before, as I was powerless to stop him. Your lady has given me the strength to do this. I will bow to him no longer! I can do this!"

Her power and conviction amaze me. The timid child I remember is no more. The beaten, despairing and angry woman I met on the train is gone as well. In their place is a woman sure of herself. In her spirit I see my beloved Christine. Yes, this is the woman from which my love descends. It is a marvelous sight to see.

"You have relieved me of a great burden, lady. I feared I would have to convince you to follow the path upon which your conviction has already set you."

I raise her hands and place a light kiss on the backs of each and release them.

"My father and I offer you any help you require for as long as you require it. My father asked me to inform you that should you wish to remain here, he would be glad of your company. He went so far as to extend his invitation to you and all your children."

As if on cue, my namesake begins to fuss in his bassinet.

Her head turns at the sound and her face becomes radiant and peaceful once more. She hurries to his side and fusses over him. Clucking her tongue and making soft soothing sounds as she checks him.

"You may wish to leave. He has soiled himself." She calls over her shoulder.

"No, lady. If you can brave it so can I."

She laughs.

"There is no stench, monsieur. However, since this is his first time it will not be a pretty sight. So, consider yourself warned!"

"The first is different from the rest? I had no idea, but then I have never had any contact with infants."

She laughs at me as she picks up the baby and carries him to the bed.

"Watch him for a moment. I need to gather the things I need. Besides you two need to become acquainted."

The baby lies on the bed sheet. He looks so small. He is so small, wrinkly and red. He has a fine fuzzy dusting of chestnut brown hair and an odd little numb of a nose. His skin looks three sizes too big. I walk up to him and see dark little eyes gazing up at me. His brown eyes make me catch my breath.

"He has your eyes. How remarkable! He's looking at me! Hello, little one." I catch his hand with my pinkie. His hand is so small. "He has a strong grip. He is so very small … ha! And strong! Will he be all right? Look he cannot reach all the way around my little finger."

Once again she laughs at me.

"He will be fine. He is completely normal for a babe born early. His birth weight is 2.324 660 896 kilograms (5 lbs. 2 oz.) I almost shudder to think how large he would have been if I had borne him full term. Really, Erik, if you ever intend to be a father, you should learn something about babies. You know I think you would make a wonderful father."

She returns with a mysterious bundle of baby things and I relinquish my spot at the bedside.

"Did I tell you that Christine is a widow and she has a seven year old daughter?"

"No … well, you may have told me, but I did not want to hear about her before so you may have and I did not hear it. Have you met her daughter?"

"Yes, she is so beautiful and very exotic with beautiful long black hair, black eyes, her mother's nose and her father's Asian eyes. She has an extremely quick mind that is the thing I most like about her. And, like her mother, the child accepted me as I was. My face did not ever frighten her or her mother. The child was concerned for me. She wanted to know if my face hurt. Her concern for me took my breath away. Her mother and I have Trystin to thank for our transformation. She wanted to know if I was her daddy now. I told her she will only have one daddy, but I can be her papa. The rush of emotion joined our souls and mended our bodies. I know I have told you before and I do not wish to cause you any grief, but they mean the world to me. I hope all of you can become friends."

"You need not worry about that any more. I harbor no jealousy or animosity towards Christine or Trystin. What a lovely name by the way. Trystin, that is. Wait! Did you say her father was Asian? How unusual!"

"Yes."

She casts a quick glance at me and must have seen something in my face or heard something in my voice for she changes the subject.

"So what do we do now? I would like to be legally divorced, not simply a runaway wife. I have no idea how to proceed."

Her hands carry out the task of washing and changing the baby without thought.

"I have no idea either, but I am sure my father has solicitors who can make the necessary arrangements. However, I believe that the legalities are the least of our concerns. The Vicomte is our main concern. We both know how unscrupulous he is. And how conscious he is of social standings. We need to arrange a set of circumstances, which would make him, have to divorce you in order for him to save face. Something so public, so scandalous, so socially unacceptable that nothing not even his money can repair the damage. And conversely, we do not want to destroy your reputation."

I pause. A thought occurs to me. I smile at her.

"Sir, I do not know if I care for that look."

"Madame, there is the tried and true option."

"And just what pray tell may that be?"

"You return to your profession. You return to the opera. You sing, Madame. You sing! Do not be alarmed. I do not suggest we repeat a performance of _"Don Juan Triumphant."_ That would too clearly give us away. I shall have a hand in the musical arrangements, set design and construction."

"And just what opera am I to sing, monsieur?"

"I have no idea. I was hoping you might have heard of something new. Something interesting."

She gasps.

"Oh! You're asking me for advice? And taking my opinion seriously?"

"Christine, I have always taken you … seriously."

"Erik, I do believe you have developed a sense of humor."

"So Christine tells me."

"I am so happy for you. I used to wish that I could fall in love with you just so the sadness would be gone. I hated seeing the sadness in your eyes all of the time. And then one day I realized that was the wrong reason to love someone. That wouldn't be love. It would be pity. You know deserved better than that. So, I wished for you to find someone to love and to love you. My heart soars at the sight of your eyes now. There is no sadness in you now."

"Yes, I know. And I tell the one who removed my sadness that I love her every time I have the opportunity,"

"Wise man."

I give her a mock bow.

"Well, any ideas? For the opera, I mean."

"No. Nothing new or exciting that I have heard. Let me think about it."

"Very well, we will have to leave it at that for the moment. Now, Christine, my friend we have one other topic to discuss. Do we not?"

Her task of diapering the baby complete, she turns to me.

"Sir, whatever do you mean?"

"The subject of your heart. You do realize there is a man to whom you're singing and the gossip associated with it would mean nothing. A man who does not care what others think. One who fell in love with you the night you sang Don Juan Triumphant. This is the subject we need to discuss."

"And just who is this paragon of virtue and love?"

"You already know, Christine. I am most certain that if my lady were here she would know how you feel about him, but then again, she most likely would not tell. She does not use her gifts to pry, just to heal. Why is it that you are feigning ignorance?"

"I am not free to do as my heart wishes. I took vows and whether my husband honors them or not. I will not betray them. I cannot become involved with anyone else until I am truly free to do so. I will say this much … you are not wrong, Erik. My heart, body, mind and soul burns, but I must wait. I have waited this long. I can wait a little while longer. However, how do we honestly know he truly cares for me? Has your lady sensed it? And if she has, why did she betray the secret of his soul? Why would she do that to him and not me? I need to know, Erik."

"So many questions from a woman who professes no interest. I know because he told me. He fell in love with you the first time he saw you. He was in the audience during Don Juan. After little Erik was born, he asked me about you. He wanted to know what our relationship was. He wanted to know if I was your paramour and the father of your son. I told him that I have been and always shall be your friend. He seemed rather relieved. I could tell he had more questions for me, but I was fatigued and begged off his questions until another time. Christine, I have found true love and recognize the signs. Etienne clearly shows all of the signs. When next you meet with him, listen to your heart. I believe now that your heart is whole and healed; it is a ready vessel for true love. No lies. No secrets. Especially do not lie to yourself. When all is open, it is there. If it has not already."

"I have already admitted to you how I feel for him. How I burn for him and now I know he feels the same for me. Erik, how do you stand it?"

"Stand what?"

"Stand being away from her?"

"Ah! Well, Christine, you must understand something that I never could even begin to fathom before I met my beloved. Love is a circle. Like the ring used to pledge one's troth. It has no beginning. It has no end. Two people in love are never alone. Never. She is with me always. It is a great distraction at times, but only because of my desire for her."

"Never alone. That sounds frightening."

"Christine, there is nothing frightening about love. The only fear I ever have is that some harm may befall her. But her presence in my mind is a comfort not a burden. Once you and Etienne can be together you will see. You will understand and I will rejoice that you have found it just as I."

"Erik, if anyone alive deserves love it is you. I am truly happy for you. Now, since his nibs sleeps I believe I will as well. In the morning please bring Christine here for a visit. I would very much enjoy speaking with her. Good evening, Erik."

"Good evening, Christine."

She gives me a playful wink and hops into bed. I nod and withdraw from the room.


	37. A Bump in the Night

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Thirty-Seven – A Bump in the Night**

It is evening and night is rapidly approaching. I see a servant lighting torches with a taper further down the hall. Realizing that my father is probably waiting to hear of my conversation with Christine, so I approach the servant.

"Excuse me."

"Yes, Monsieur Erik?"

I am pleasantly surprised that the man knows who I am.

"Would you give a message to le Comte for me?"

"Of course."

"Please tell him that I will speak with him at breakfast. I am retiring for the evening."

The man repeats my message, douses the taper and after a slight bow, heads down the hall.

I must check on my beloved. Her fading worried me more than I had let on to anyone. Although I had attempted to make light of it to Christine, each time we separate is indeed a difficult thing.

Quickly walking through the darkening corridors to the room where my beloved lies, I compose a short prayer asking I find Christine peacefully asleep. I look up and down the corridor. No one is visible to take note of my entering the room so I slip inside.

The room is very dark as the drapes are closed. I quietly make my way across the room when I unexpectedly bump into a chair and send it skittering across the floor. I stand there a moment silently cursing my clumsiness and rub my abused shin when I hear something. I immediately go completely still. After a moment, I realize the sound is a giggle.

"Oh! So I amuse you now, do I?"

"Indeed, sir. You give me cause to smile quite often. And, it serves you right for entering a lady's chambers without receiving her permission first."

My beloved's voice touches me with its husky caress from across the room. A match flares as she lights the wick of an oil lamp, which sits on the night table next to the bed. She lowers the blue and green shade onto the lamp. She rolls to the middle of the bed and waits. The pale light bounces and swirls about the chamber as the flame flickers. The blue-green hue lending the room an underwater quality. I move closer to the bed and Christine presents me with a delicious sight. She lies on the bed clothed only in her long flowing tresses of chestnut curls. Her smile radiant, she holds out her hand to me.

I cross remaining distance between us and sit on the edge of the bed. Taking her hand in mine I inquire as to how she is feeling.

"I am well. Fully recovered, my love. And, I am ravenous!"

"Well, I believe a visit to the kitchen will alleviate that."

She laughs lustily and pulls my hand to her breast.

"The kitchen does not contain the sustenance I require. I require you, my love."

"And I you, beloved. And I you, but I do not wish to see you fade away. I was truly worried I might lose you again. Christine, I need you here with me. I need you to take care of yourself for me."

She uses my hand to caress her breast. An immediate fire begins to kindle within me.

"Christine, promise me you are recovered enough. That you are strong enough. I need to know that my desire for you will not hurt you. It would destroy me if …."

She makes a shushing noise and stares intently into my eyes. She raises my hand to her mouth. Her eyes sparkle with mischief, lust and love. Her mouth opens and she sucks two of my fingers inside. Her tongue flicks around my fingers then she pulls them out with a small pop. Her eyebrow arches and she runs her tongue along the edge of her lower lip. I feel a shiver of goose flesh travel down my spine. The shiver sends hundreds of thrilling shocks throughout my body. My desire for her is swiftly passing from a pressing need to an urgent demand for her attention. A sigh escapes my lips.

"You are maddening!"

"Very well, I promise you. Your love will never harm me. It cannot. Your love brings me the strength to endure the moments we are apart. I love you, Erik. Come, my darling. Come to bed with me."

She smiles up at me and I hear the truth of her words. I return her smile.

"I love you, Christine."

She places my hand in the shallow valley between her breasts. I feel the steady thump of her heart beating under my hand. After a moment, I realize my body's pulse matches hers as I feel the pounding of my pulse in the hardness she has taken into her hand. I can resist no longer. My hands run free, savoring all of her. I feel the silkiness of her hair, the softness of her cheek, the tautness of her nipple and the hot magic of her wet excitement. She moans and I bend taking her nipple into my mouth. We love one another in exquisite slowness. When we finish, I pull the blankets up and cover our nakedness from the cold.

Later, we whisper words of love and hopes for our future together. We tell each other silly secrets and hold one another close. Even later, we fall asleep in one another's arms.

Sometime during the night, I awaken. I reluctantly leave the warmth of the bed, draw open the drapes and quickly return to my beloved's side.

The first light of morning peeks into my eyes and awakens me. It is very early. I look upon Christine's face. She is so peaceful. The sunlight silhouettes her head and casts an auburn halo around her. She snuggles closer to me. Suddenly, I gasp as her sleeping hand wraps about me firmly. She squeezes once, sighs and settles back into sleep. Even when she is asleep, she wants me it seems. I think her love and desire for me have been a constant from the moment she first saw me. A lonely, heart-broken man sitting wet, bedraggled and weeping on the floor of her den. The pleasant pressure of her grasp drives the memory from my mind. I find myself responding to her hand, my hips guiding my arousal into her curled fist. My hands respond to the beauty of her body with caresses that sample all she offers me. I plant kisses along her neck, over her breasts and back up to her face. Her eyes open and she smiles. Our lips touch, meet and the world falls away.

"Where are we? _Where am I?_ Who are we? _Who am I?_"

Thoughts swirl and tangle in the darkness. I no longer. She no longer. Now, only we. I feel as she. She feels as me. We feel all. Slowly, light returns. We remain locked in a kiss, the force of which has combined our essence into one.

I feel my love for her flow from me into her through the force of our kiss. My love for her is wondrous and the passion of our kiss ignites my body. She sets me afire. Her body awakens and I feel conscious purpose moving her hand as she grasps and squeezes me. Our mouths open, our kiss deepens as our tongues caress. We moan filling one another's mouth with the sounds. I roll onto my back pulling her on top of me. Our mouths release. She sits astride my body, her grasping hand guides me to her wetness and she lowers herself onto me. And so begins the rolling of her hips and my upward thrusts. Now it is my hands' turn to grasp her. I hold a breast in each hand and taking care to caress the outside curve of each breast. I know she likes this best. Her hips cease rolling. She lifts and lowers herself onto me in time with my thrusts. My body surrenders to the joy of making love to her and then my mind surrenders to her. As she surrenders to me, body and mind. The surrender is complete. All barriers between us gone. Our minds joining just as our bodies join. The pleasure of two becoming one in body and in mind. I cannot tell where I end and she begins, nor do I care. We simply are. We surrender completely to one another and become more together than we ever were alone. I receive a gift I have never known before. I behold her love for me. More than that, I feel it. Just as she sees and feels mine. I shall never forget the totality of this love. She for me and me for her. This is not the simple joining of two halves of a circle, but two vines grown into one curled tightly about one another into a never-ending ring. We climax as one. I feel her and she mine. The last vestiges of the black barrier between us dissolve. All is now visible. We see each other. I know her. She knows me. No doubts. No fear. What we began with a caress now complete. We are complete. No wall, no fog, no blackness divides us. We have fused and merged. Our love decided.

When at last I open my eyes, I see a sight incomparable. Her eyes shining with tears of joy and I know mine are the same. Words are unnecessary. We have said everything, told all.

We gently hold each other our passion spent for the moment, but our minds still joined.

Quietly, she sings,

"_Past the point of no return  
The final threshold  
The bridge is crossed  
So stand and watch it burn  
We've passed the point of no  
Return."_

Then I sing,

"_Say you'll share with me  
One love  
One lifetime  
Lead me, save me  
From my solitude  
Say you want me with you  
Here beside you  
Anywhere you go  
Let me go too  
Christine  
That's all I ask of you."_

We share a deep kiss.

She sings,

"_Say you love me  
Every waking moment  
Turn my head  
With talk of wintertime  
Say you need me with you  
Now and always  
Promise me  
That all you say is true  
That's all I ask of you  
Say you'll share with me  
One love, one lifetime  
Say the word  
And I will follow you."_

Then we sing together,

_Share each day with me  
Each night, each morning."_

She sings,

"_Say you love me."_

I sing,

"_You know I do."_

We sing,

"_Love me  
That's all I ask of you  
Anywhere you go let me go too  
Love me  
That's all I ask of you."_

I kiss her and she returns my kiss with the sweetest lips any man could ever taste.

"That is how that song should be sung." She tells me.

"But, mon chére cœur there is no drama, no heartache. No one cares to see love requited."

"I did not say the song was a performance. I meant that is how it should be. How it is for us." She stops and realizes I was teasing. "You? Erik? You teased?"

She hugs me and I feel her sheer delight.

"So, you must be a good influence on me."

"I shall endeavor to remain so, sir." She laughs.

I notice the sun has risen considerably above the horizon. My father's warning returns to me.

"I must go to my room, mon chére cœur. I will not have people speaking cruel words about you, especially not since I know you will feel it and be hurt by it. Since we are to be married on December 25th we only need wait a short time. Six weeks. Then we need not be concerned with the whispers. We will be married and we can gaze upon each other's nakedness as often as we like. And we can spend each and every night together." I sigh. "So short a time and yet it feels as if it is forever."

She laughs at me and gives my bare buttock a gentle slap.

"Sir, you would compromise my reputation?" She lifts the sheet to cover herself.

"Never, milady! I would slay one hundred nay one hundred thousand if any dare blaspheme your virtue."

"Well rather than have us drown in their blood, I suggest you make haste and withdraw to your own chamber, sir. Ah, parting is such sweet sorrow!"

I smile. "Lady, methinks you misspoke. That line is mine!"

"Oh yes, you are my Romeo! Now, scoot! I shall take a nap and let whomever your father sends wake me. I shall see you for breakfast, my dearest. Go, Erik. Before I change my mind and damn them all and love you here forever and a day!"

Her words spoken lightly, yet I feel the truth of them, so I grab my clothes and beat a hasty retreat.


	38. Henri

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Thirty-Eight – Henrí**

Fortunately, the nearest room to Christine's is empty and the bed linens fresh. I toss my clothes onto a nearby chair and leave my boots on the floor next to the bed. I draw the drapes, throw back the blankets and hop into bed. The bed is so cold without Christine. I close my eyes and there she is. She holds out her hand, I take it and hold it tightly. She sings wordlessly to me and I fall into sleep.

Bright light burns into my eyes through the closed lids. I groan and think what sweet misery is love. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I open my eyes. A boy stands near my bed. When he sees I am awake, he stands very straight and staring ahead proclaims, "I am Henrí. Your father has sent me to act as your valet. I have drawn you a hot bath and brought you fresh clothes. Please, Monsieur, your father requests your presence at the morning meal. We must make haste. He dines in an hour. Please, Monsieur Erik!"

"I am awake, Henrí. Calm yourself. I will not be late. Have you a robe for me?"

"Yes, Monsieur. I do."

He holds up a dark green robe. I sit up and turn slightly, so the boy can assist me in putting on the robe. I think if I had stood I would have towered over him. I wonder what he would have done then.

I hear Christine's voice, _"He would have climbed onto the bed, silly."_

I choke back a laugh and the boy looks at me nervously.

"Thank you, Henrí. Well done. I am ready for my bath now. Please lead the way."

"Yes, Monsieur. This way. Follow me, please."

Poor pup is frightened to death. I wonder why. Have I ever seen him before? I silently pray he was not a witness to my last visit to the Château.

Again, I hear Christine's voice inside my head.

"_He is not afraid of you. He is afraid of failing to do his duty properly. You are the son of his master. This assignment is an honor. Being your valet is an honor. He wants to be worthy of your father's trust in him and acquit himself well." Christine explains. "He is a good boy. Be kind to him and you will have a loyal and trustworthy companion for the rest of your life. I, too, must bathe and get ready for breakfast. However, as a guest I do not instill the fear you do. A very nice young woman named Miriam attends me. See you at the table, my dearest!"_

I stand, tie the robe's belt at my waist, stretch and follow Henrí out into the hall. We enter the bathroom where Christine and I had briefly hidden yesterday. The tub is full of water and I can see a fog of steam rising from it surface. I check the water with my hand. I turn to the boy.

"Thank you, Henrí. The water is perfect."

He bows at the waist slightly, "Thank you for saying so, Monsieur."

I gently place my hand under his chin and raise his face so he can see my eyes.

"Henrí, I am Erik. You need not bow to me."

"But, Monsieur!"

"Erik."

"Erik? Uh, yes. I cannot speak to you thus in front of the rest of the staff. I would be beaten."

"Then it's our secret until I can inform the rest of the staff that you have my personal favor and permission to call me by my Christian name. Is that satisfactory?"

I did not think the boy could stand any straighter, but somehow he manages it.

"Oh! Yes, Monsieur. I mean, Erik! Thank you! Here, allow me to assist you."

I untie the robe and allow the boy to catch it as I shrug it off. I feel his eyes on me as I step into the tub. Before Christine, I would never have been able to stand naked in front of another. Now, it seems so unimportant. I am forever clothed with Christine's love. The water is indeed perfect. Just a little on the hot side and I quickly become accustomed to it. Henrí offers me soap and washcloth. I lather the cloth and scrub away the sweat of my night and morning's exertions from my body. Henrí brings a brush and scrubs my back. As much as I enjoy the attention, I am very aware of the passing time. I raise my hand to my face and feel the bristles of my beard. I hope my beard left no tell-tale marks on Christine.

"Henrí, I need a razor and shaving soap, please. Could you find one for me?"

"I already have what you need here. Allow me. I've practiced on my father many times. He says I am quite good and very quick. I've never nicked him. Not once!"

"My face awaits you, Henrí."

I lean back in the tub and allow the boy to go to work. True to his word, he makes a quick clean job of removing the beard from my face. I rinse the soap from my face and body and turn to find the boy holding a towel for me his eyes averted from my nakedness. I step from the tub and go to take the towel from his, but he begins to dry me.

"Henrí, that is not necessary. I can do that myself. Thank you."

He allows me to take the towel from him. He backs over by the door.

"I shall be in your room to assist you with your clothes, Erik."

I hear the pleasure in his voice as he speaks my name, so I decide not to dismiss him from dressing me.

"I will not be long, Henrí."

He catches himself mid-bow and smiling at me sheepishly leaves the room. I find myself smiling too. My father chose the perfect person to act as my valet and I realize having a valet protects Christine's reputation as I have a witness to my sleeping alone.

I finish drying myself, don the robe and return to my room. Henrí is standing next to a chair, which has fresh clothes on it. I guess these must be my father's clothes. Henrí hands me underclothes and which I put these on myself. He then holds out the trousers for me. I place my hand on the boy's shoulder and allow him to assist me. He holds up a white long sleeve shirt and I slip it on. He hurries around me and begins to button the shirt when I hold up a hand.

"Henrí, really. Please do not take offense, but I can manage this myself." I add a smile to soften the words.

"As you wish." He returns to the chair where I see a pair of soft black leather boots. I tuck the shirttails into my trousers and button the trousers. I finish buttoning the shirt and when I go to button the cuffs find no buttons, just holes for cufflinks.

"Henrí, I have no cufflinks."

"Your father anticipated this need as well. Here allow me."

Henrí walks to the dresser and I see a small box there. He opens the box, removes the contents and returns to me. I see a sparkle of green as he fastens the cufflinks in place. I look down and see my father sent a pair of emerald cufflinks for my use.

Henrí sees me looking at them and tells me, "They're his own. He says they match your eyes and now they are yours." The boy blushes.

"Does he now? Well, I suppose he should know. After all, I've been told we look very much alike."

"Yes, Monsieur. You do. Here let me help you with your boots."

With the boy helping me, we make quick work of getting the boots onto my feet.

"Well, Henrí, just one thing left. I need a hair brush or comb."

"It's on the dresser. Would you like to me to do it for you?"

"No, Henrí. I can do it. Thank you for everything. Unless there's something else, you may go now."

"No, Monsieur. There is nothing else, but I do need to empty the bath and tidy the room."

I run the comb through my hair and pat it into place. I remember how long it took to fix my hair when I had to wear the wig and once again marvel at being reborn.

"Thank you, Henrí. I suppose I will see you again this evening?"

"Yes, Monsieur. Just inform Madame Marguerite when you require me and she will send me to you."

"I will do that, Henrí. Now you have a good day. You have done very well."

I give him a friendly pat on the shoulder and take my leave of him. Through Christine, I feel the boy's happiness and am glad.


	39. Breakfast Truths

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Thirty-Nine – Breakfast Truths**

The journey through the corridors of the château gives me time to think about Christine. My Christine. The wondrous mingling of our bodies and minds. The completion of our bond has given me strength of purpose. Before this morning, I had times where I wondered how she could love me. Now, there are no more doubts. I know her love for me the same as I know my love for her. Before my love for her sometimes acted as a distraction. A marvelous distraction, but a distraction none the less. Now, our love is the bedrock of my life. It is the steady foundation for us to build our future.

I think,

"_There are no second thoughts.  
We've passed the point of no return.  
Our fates are joined forever."_

And I am glad.

The dining room is bright with the light of morning and the chandelier light adds warmth to any shadows the sun has not dispelled. My father sits at the head of the table alone patiently waiting for his family.

I walk to him and kiss him on the cheek.

"Good morning, father."

He looks at me smiling. "Good morning, son. Did you sleep well?"

"Very well indeed. Thank you. And you?"

"Oh, I slept well for the first time in, oh, I cannot remember how long. So, tell me is Henrí acceptable to you as valet?"

"You know he is perfect, father. He is a wonderful boy, not to mention an excellent barber."

My father laughs delightedly and slaps his leg.

"Please, sit."

I take my place at his right hand.

"I fear your beloved keeps us waiting."

"Fear not, father. She is worth the wait."

"Of that I have no fear. Erik, how did the two of you meet? When the two of you are in the same room, I have the strangest feeling. While I do not wish to question the miracle of you forgiving me. Or your healed features. There is more to your story than you have told me. I do not mean to pressure you, but I am worried. She is so perfect for you. And you, you are so different. I feel that perhaps, I have lost my mind and retreated into a dream of wishful thinking. Who is she? Who are you?"

Emotions play across my father's face that cause me real concern and I decide to tell him the truth.

"Father, if you dream, then I do too. I will tell you our story, but I fear you will not believe it."

"Erik, look me in the eyes. Tell me you are my son."

I reach out and take his hands in mine.

"I am your son, Erik. I was the deformed product of your union with Genevieve. I was the opera ghost, the trapdoor lover, architect, assassin, composer, magician and the feared Phantom of the Opera. I was all of these things and yet, none of them were me. I hated everyone with the exception of two people. Christine Daae and Cecile Giry. I loved Christine's voice and I owed my life to Cecile. I did not know how to love people, but Christine showed me the ways of friendship. I have told you the truth of what befell Christine and me. She sacrificed herself for me. And I told her that I loved her for it. Now, here is where my story becomes unbelievable. As I sat in my refuge below the opera house unmasked and weeping over my failure to protect my friend, I suddenly heard my voice surround me. And I heard myself singing, _"Christine I love you._""

"As those words faded I found I was no longer in my bedroom, but in a room I had never seen before. A woman sat on a sofa six feet in front of me. I had never seen this woman before, but I knew her. I could feel it somehow even then I knew we were somehow connected. The two of sat frozen in shock staring at one another. Then I heard Christine's voice singing and then Raoul's. That released us from our shock. I leapt to my feet and backed away from her. She attempted to rise, but fell to her knees. I noticed a cane leaning on the arm of the couch, so without thinking I offered her my hand and helped her to her feet. I backed away from her as soon as she was standing. I will never forget her first words to me, she said, "Excuse me, but where did you come from?""

"She was so calm. Her complete lack of horror or fear at my presence made me forget that I was not wearing my mask. I could not answer her the first time she asked. It was only after she repeat the question and bent down to catch my eyes. It was when I saw her smile. That was when I found my tongue and could speak. That was the moment my life truly began. I will not repeat everything we said to one another, as we would be here much too long. The one thing that you should know about my Christine is she is the only person to look upon my unmasked face with fear or loathing. From the first moment we met, she saw me. And she loved me. I now know that she while she saw my face at the same time she did not see it. My deformity was a mask to her that covered the real person she saw beneath it. She loves me for me. And I love her for her. I was born deformed. Life's cruelties chipped away at the normal body she received at birth. At 10, an accidental injury left mostly deaf and at 45, she became partially paralyzed. I was 36 and she was 48 when we met. Yes, I see you do not believe it. Believe it father. Look at me. You know I will be 37 in a few days. Do I not look much younger?"

The damn bursts and I pour forth our entire tale. I feel Christine enter the room and walk to my side. She places her hand on my shoulder and I reach up and place my hand on top of hers. Her presence gives me the strength I need to tell my father everything. Well, almost anyway. There are some things best left unsaid. When at last my torrent of words cease. I gaze hesitantly at him awaiting an outburst of disbelief and denial.

"Give him a chance, dearest. Our tale is quite unbelievable." Christine's soothing voice fills my mind. I give her hand a loving squeeze that she returns in kind.

Christine bends and places a kiss on my cheek then releases my hand. She walks to my father, bends, places a soft kiss of his cheek and then takes her place at the table. My father blinks and then turns to Christine.

"You are an educated woman. I knew that the moment I heard you speak. Did you attend university?"

"Yes, I majored in History and minored in English and received my Bachelor of Arts at California State University, Northridge. I am a licensed by the State of California as a Real Estate Broker. I do not act as agent in the purchase or sale of properties, but as an agent for owners of multi-unit housing … apartment buildings. I am co-owner of a property management company. My partner is also a female. We are a small company. We manage 10 apartment buildings, which contain a combined total of approximately 500 units. We also manage 2 duplexes, 1 condominium and 2 houses. I work four different jobs. I manage the bookkeeping at the management office, I am the on-site manager of the 16-unit property in which I reside and I am off-site manager of a 16-unit property and a 7-unit property. I have worked in this field for nearly 21 years. The date of my hire as on-site manger was February 15, 1986. I began my position as office manager on April 1, 1989. My date of birth is November 4, 1957. I was born in Encino, California at 4:36 a.m. My mother's maiden name was Peters. She died in an motorized carriage accident on June 1, 1984. The carriage driver was drunk. The passengers with her in the vehicle also died my maternal grandfather and my 6-year old daughter, Adrianna. My mother and grandfather died on impact. My daughter hung on to life for one week. She died on June 8, 1984. My father's name is Nicholas. He is a family doctor and although he is 72-years old, he is in excellent health and still practices medicine full-time. Would you like to ask me anything else?"

"Can you take me there?"

His question surprises both of us.

"Why?" Christine asks.

"To see the future." He turns to me. "You have been there?"

"Yes, father."

His eyes become unfocused and suddenly I feel the hairs on my arms stand up. The room crackles with electricity. He shakes his head and the crackling ceases.

Christine is smiling and she is shaking her head.

"So, it is not from his mother that Erik received his gifts, is it?"

"No, although she was indeed a gypsy, she was not a mentalist or medium. My family has the gift." He raises his eyes to meet mine. "Our family. I am a soothsayer. I longed denied my gift much to my own detriment, but Genevieve helped me accept it, develop it and finally, to trust it. I sense no lies in either of your words, but …."

"Yes, but …."

She stands and begins to whirl about the room laughing. I notice she is wearing a frilly lavender dress that does not seem to be something she would choose for herself.

"Erik! You must know better! Of course I didn't choose it. Your father sent it to me. It belonged to Gwendyn."

In a swirl of lavender lace, Christine waltzes back to the table and sits.

"So, do you think we've kept the kitchen staff waiting long enough?"

"Yes, I imagine we are all hungry."

He rings the bell and servants begin serving breakfast.

My father is in high spirits and Christine responds to his witty remarks in kind.

I, on the other hand, feel uneasy. Something is not right. Everything I thought I knew about my father seems to be wrong. The man I had researched so carefully is not the same man sitting next to me. This man is the father I had always dreamed of having.

Christine interrupts my thoughts with a few of her own.

_"My dearest, us finding one another has changed more than us. As stone cast into still water creates rings of ripples extending ever outwards, so our joining affects those around us. Another analogy would be a line of dominoes. Knock down the first in the line and the rest fall one at a time. So, accept that this is the man who is your father. The man who existed before is no more. You both deserve this."_

_"All right, beloved. I will accept the way things are now and hope this is the way things remain."_

"I am so happy, I feel like dancing." She says aloud.

"Soon you shall, my dear. We will have a small reception after your wedding and we shall have music and dancing."

"Please, sir. There is so little time to plan. You do not need to go to any trouble."

"Trouble? My only child marries and his intended worries they cause me trouble. Silly child. This is an unexpected joy. I, too, feel like dancing. I feel better than I have in a long time. I believe the cloud that has hung over the family de Mornay has at long last lifted. And I have the two of you to thank for that. Trouble, indeed!"

I have the father of my dreams and a love I never dreamed possible. I enjoy the good food set before me and listen as my father makes plans with my beloved for our wedding.

"Gentlemen, would you please excuse me?"

We both rise as she leaves the table.

"You are very quiet."

"Just savoring the moment. Watching and listening to the two of you … I am truly happy."

"Then I am happy as well."

We smile and return to our food.

Christine waltzes back into the room. She has changed her clothes. She is wearing a slate gray cloak and as she spins I see the cloak has a silver lining. I catch sight of a silver-gray ruffled blouse and a charcoal gray skirt beneath the cloak.

"Gentlemen! I feel so much better. No offense, monsieur, but Gwendyn's taste in clothing and mine are worlds apart. How do I look?"

She removes the cloak with a flip and a flourish.

My father gasps. What I had taken for a skirt is actually a type of wide-legged trousers I have never seen before.

"They are called, "gaucho pants." As long as I leave on my cloak, I can pass as wearing a skirt. This way when I ride, I need not do it side-saddle. And, today, we need to go ride, Erik. After we speak with Christine, we ride to Rennes and from there we take the train to Paris. We must not allow de Chagny to bring the battle here. We must keep him off-balance and unsure as to where Christine is. We take the battle to him in Paris away from Christine and little Erik! We will sow false trails for his lackeys to follow all leading away from Montmuran. Christine needs time to regain her strength. As does little Erik. And we need time to arrange for her triumphant return to the stage!"

She takes my breath away! The boldness of her plan is wise as well. While my father and I had thought we had perhaps a week before word of Christine's whereabouts reached Raoul, if we acted instead of waiting we could manipulate events and perhaps conceal her whereabouts indefinitely. Perhaps.

My father's face has gone ashen.

"But, my dear, what of your wedding?"

"Oh, have no fear, good monsieur. I shall allow your son no excuse. He will make an honest woman of me on Christmas morning." Her gay laugh infects the both of us. My father breathes a sigh of relief.

"I feared you intended to postpone the event."

"Not I! Monsieur, I only wish Christmas were today, but we must deal with de Chagny once and for all. Then we may all live in peace. Then …."

She halts mid-sentence and her eyes seek mine.

"Dearest …."

"I know, beloved. I will ask for you."

She smiles her gratitude and I walk to my father.

"Monsieur, may I ask a favor of you?"

"Of course, my son. I would deny you nothing. Anything you ask within my power to grant is yours."

"Father, I require no physical thing. I require a favor. I ... no, we ask, would you watch over Trystin and Cecile while we are in Paris?"

His eyes shine, his head lifts and his chest swells.

"Oh, my son!" He turns to me. "And, you! My daughter! Come here!"

Christine takes her place at my side and we both face my father.

"I would be truly honored to care for your child, my daughter. My son, I will protect your friend and your child with my life. On my word, no harm shall befall them so long as there is breath in my body."

He embraces Christine and kisses her on the cheek. Then he hugs me tightly and whispers, "God bless you, son. Take care and return in time for your nuptials."

"We will, father. I want this lady as my wife more than you will ever know."

His response is a smile and a knowing wink. I am most fortunate in that Christine does not see either.

"Sir? Trystin will wish to be our flower girl. Could you find a suitable dress for her? In fact, I have very little appropriate clothing for her to wear here. Cecile can help you with regards to clothing and looking after her. I have one more thing to ask. By bringing her here, I have effectively removed her from school. Could you find a tutor for her? She is very bright. Her favorite subject is mathematics."

"I will teach her myself, child. Have no fear. She will be cherished here."

"Thank you! You are very generous! That relieves me of a great burden. I will not worry so much if I know she is here."

"When will they arrive?"

"We will go and bring them back with us after we speak with Christine. Come, dearest! We have a busy day before us! By your leave, Monsieur."

He nods to Christine.

"Father, excuse us please?"

"Of course! Go! The sooner you finish speaking with the Vicomtessa, the sooner I get to meet Trystin."


	40. Taking Leave,,,

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Forty – Taking Leave…**

As I walk from the room, I hear my father humming.

"Ma chére, slow down!"

She does more than slow down; she stops and waits for me. When I come up to her, she takes my arm in hers and together we continue to the former Christine Daae's room. We walk in together in silence. I turn to look upon the face of my beloved and wonder if the peace and happiness I see there reflects that of my own countenance.

"It is, dearest." She answers my unspoken question aloud.

"Beloved, we must take care not to do that in public or they will place us in a cage and exhibit us."

"Well, I suppose that's better than cutting us up to see what color are organs are."

"Pardonnez-moi?" I ask her startled. I sense she refers to something specific, but it is something from her time that I do not understand.

"Sorry, dearest, just my odd sense of humor. I was equating us to alien beings from another world. And what do humans do to the first beings we meet from another planet? Do we speak with them and learn the secrets of the universe? No, we kill them and cut them up to see what color their organs are. Sorry, my sense of humor has a definite macabre bend to it."

"It makes you who you are. And I love you, Christine."

"And I love you, Erik."

We arrive at Christine's room to find the door slightly ajar and two voices can be heard speaking, one male, one female. We turn to each other, I am smiling and Christine is attempting to control her smile by biting her lower lip.

"Oh, dearest, can you hear the tone of their voices? It has happened! They may not admit it, but they have fallen head over heels in love. She told you yesterday that she could do nothing until she is divorced from Raoul? Well, I believe she is reconsidering. We had better get in there before the kissing commences."

I laugh aloud and a hush falls on the room.

After a moment, Christine calls out, "Is someone there? Come in, please."

Arm in arm we enter the room. Christine sits in one of a pair of armchairs by the window. Etienne de Wolfe sits in the other. As we enter the room, Etienne stands in deference to my lady who quickly indicates it is not necessary as she waves him back into his seat.

"Good morning!" She says gaily and releasing my arm, she walks to Christine, stoops, places a small kiss on her cheek and then turns to face Etienne de Wolfe.

"Good morning, sir. I am Christine Maire. You must be Dr. de Wolfe. Thank you for your most excellent care of our friend." And to all of our surprise, she bends and places a small kiss on his cheek as well.

While surprised by the kiss, the attention pleases him. My beloved smiles radiantly at me as she returns to my side and slips her arm around my waist. I draw my arm around her shoulder. A perfect fit.

"Christine, are we interrupting the two of you? Would you like us to come back later?"

I hear the oh-so-subtle teasing tone of her voice, but it is lost on both Christine and Etienne who both protest a bit too much that they were just exchanging pleasantries.

_"And the doctor found her so pleasant he forgot to let go of her hand when we walked into the room. You did see they were holding hands when we entered, didn't you?"_

_"Christine, hush! I am afraid I will say something I mean to think to you aloud and that would be most embarrassing for all of us. And, no, I did not see the two of them holding hands. That is very good news. Most encouraging."_

My lady gives me a gentle squeeze and begins exchanging her own pleasantries with Christine and Etienne. I find myself falling back into an old habit of mine. I observe. All the years I lived hidden in the bowels of the earth, my main encounters with humanity were when I climbed the rafters of the opera house and watched. I watched the small dramas of life unfold. Now, I watch the man and woman seated before me. I notice that the people sit close together. Their chairs moved as closer together as propriety allows. And then I feel something. Something new. Through the joining of our soul, I can feel (as Christine does) the people before me. The intensity of their passion almost takes my breath away. Suddenly, I see more. The flush of Etienne's face. The rapid and erratic rise and fall of his chest betray his arousal. He unconsciously stares at Christine and then wets his lips. Christine shows the same signs as Etienne and more; her lips seem fuller and her eyes darker. As she reacts to a comment by Etienne, Christine places her hand on top of his and leaves it there. After a few moments, her thumb begins to caress the back of his hand. I tear my gaze away and look out the window. Now it is my breathing, which I must control. How does she live this way? I want to take my beloved right here, right now. I focus on a bird flying across the sky and breath. With my composure regained, I tune in to the conversation.

"But is it not true that the incidence of sepsis occurs frequently often in hospitals with doctors in attendance than in home births attended by midwives? I believe it is due to doctors not taking sanitary precautions."

"Yes! That is exactly the point I attempted to make during my residency in London, but change is very difficult in the medical profession."

"And what precautions did you use in regards to this birth?"

"Very careful washing of my hands and arms. I use a small brush on my nails. Next I raise my hands and have someone pour a 70 solution of Isopropyl on my hands and allow it to run down my arms. I allow my hands and arms to air dry and most importantly, allow nothing to come into contact with my hands. My hands must not touch anything other than my patient. I also believe the patient's affected area needs cleansing prior to performing any procedure. However, in the case of childbirth, Isopropyl must not be used near the birth canal as it is possible to poison the child with it during birth."

I feel my Christine nodding.

"And sitting before us is proof that your theories are sound, sir. This good lady gave birth prematurely little more than 24-hours ago and here she sits and there her baby lies and both are in excellent health. No fever. No sepsis. Would that more physicians adhere to your regimen. There would be more healthy babies with living mothers if they did. Bravo, Doctor!"

"How is it that you are so well acquainted with medical theory?"

"Oh, no great secret! My father is a doctor and an excellent one I might add. He believes just as you do. I have two sisters and our father instructed the three of us on the precautions to take when giving birth. My father delivered my daughter. I trust him more than anyone else. No offense intended, sir."

"None taken, Madame. You would have made a fine physician yourself."

"Why, thank you, Doctor. I know only one other man who thinks thus. And, I am to marry him."

She cocks her head up and smiles lovingly at me. I return her smile and shake my head.

"Yes, she is a source of constant amazement to me. The things she knows. I am the luckiest man alive. For I shall be able to spend the rest of my life discovering all of the wondrous things she has stored within her mind."

Christine speaks up at last, "Most men do not care to know what lies within a woman's head, Erik. I have found that with most men, their interests lie lower."

"Then, you have known the wrong men!" Etienne says to her and he raises her hand to his lips and gives it a gentle kiss.

She blushes prettily and slowly removes her hand from his.

"With the obvious exception of Erik, I am certain you are quite correct, Monsieur."

"Well, Madame, perhaps you will allow me to prove to you that I deserve your consideration as a candidate to join Erik?"

"Perhaps, Monsieur. Someday, perhaps."

They look deep into one another's eyes and I can see she has already added him to her list.

I clear my throat.

"Christine, I was wondering if you had given any more thought towards the question of a suitable opera."

"Actually, I have and can think of nothing. Nothing at all."

My lady interjects.

"Excuse me, but what are the two of you talking about?"

"The Vicomtessa wishes to return to the opera. We have been attempting to think of a production worthy of her voice. Thus far we have been unable to think of any suitable candidates."

My lady stands very still. Her head tilts to the side as if listening then her head straightens.

"May I make a suggestion?"

"Please, do." I reply curious to see what her voice just said.

"I am a voracious reader. Last year, I read _"Rarahu ou Le Mariage de Loti"_ by Pierre Loti. It is a marvelous story, but I digress. Recently, when I was at the Paris Conservatoire, I heard of a libretto by Philippe Gille and Edmond Gondinet based on this novel. Now, would you like to know why they were at the Conservatoire?" She pauses for dramatic effect. "They are collaborating with Léo Delibes. He is composing the score for the libretto. The opera's name is _"Lakmé"_ after the female lead. I suggest we pay a call on him at the Conservatoire and offer to produce this opera. Of course, we arrange for Christine to star in the production." My beloved looks directly into Christine's eyes. "Please trust me. M. Delibes' opera will be the perfect opera for your lovely voice to once again grace the stage."

"My sister, I trust you." The two Christine's smile at one another.

"In fact, I believe there will be roles that all of us can perform. Even you, good Doctor."

"But I am no performer!"

"No, it is not my intention to have you perform onstage. Perhaps, you would be interested in making fools of the gossipmongers of Paris? Yes?"

"You have my complete attention!"

"Your social standing would provide us with an outlet for rumors of our creation and choosing to be spread. Would it not?"

"It would indeed!" He smiles broadly. "I think I shall enjoy being a party to this conspiracy."

"While this is a conspiracy, Etienne." I explain. "It is also a rescue. We conspire to rescue my friend, Christine from a cruel marriage."

The four of us are quiet for a moment. I take my beloved by the arm and lead her to Christine's chair. I hold out my hand in the air palm down.

"Who is with me in this?"

"I am!" Says my beloved and she places her hand atop of mine.

"Most definitely! I am." Christine places her hand atop of my dear heart's hand.

We turn to look at Etienne. He immediately stands and places his hand atop of Christine's hand.

"I look forward to assisting in any way I can. I am in!" He says forcefully.

"Hell, we're all bloody in!"

We laugh quietly, not wishing to wake little Erik.

"Christine," I begin to speak and my voice startles her as she was staring dreamily at Etienne. "I apologize, but my lady and I are leaving the château today and you expressed a desire to speak with her. Is there anything else which needs to be said between the two of you?"

"You're leaving? Today? Where are you going and for how long?"

"We go to Paris for perhaps a fortnight, but we will return sooner if possible. We are leaving two guests behind, one of which you know quite well. Madame Giry will be here and Trystin, Christine's daughter, accompanies her. So, as you can quite imagine my lady will be quite anxious to return as soon as possible."

"Oh Cecile is here? Why hasn't she come to see me?"

"No, she should be arriving in an hour or so and I am most certain she will pay you a nice visit."

"That will be so nice." She stretches for a moment holding her back.

Etienne notices and is immediately at her side.

"I apologize, but I believe this lady has had enough sitting and talking for now. No, Christine. I saw hold your back. No. It's a nap for you."

He bends, lifts her into his arms and carries her to the bed. He gently lowers her to bed and I feel him longing to kiss her.

"Etienne, I will rest I promise, but I must speak with Christine before she goes. Two minutes. I promise. And I would like to speak with her privately, if the two of you gentlemen don't mind."

"Of course not, Christine. Beloved, I await you outside the door." I wrap my arm about her waist just a little tighter and kiss the top of her head. Then I bow to Christine and walk into the hall. A moment later, Etienne joins me.

"Well, you have fallen for your Christine just as far as I have for mine."

"I beg your pardon! She is a married woman and I would never …."

I hold up my hand to stop his protests.

"I do not impugn your honor or hers either. I love her as a sister. It is my wish is that she finds true happiness. The reason I know how the two of you feel is that I feel the same way for my lady. We cannot choose who we love or when we love. It just happens."

He sighs.

"Yes. I will admit it only to you. I love her. I have loved her ever since I first saw her on the stage in _Don Juan Triumphant_. When I heard she'd married I left France and went to England to study and try to forget her. Well, I studied, but I was never able to forget her. And what happens? I am home barely two weeks and she is my first patient! God help me! Then I walk into the room and there you are singing to her. I felt spellbound. You have an amazing voice, Monsieur. I believe that if anyone saved her life, it was you. Your voice kept her calm and I believe that is why she didn't hemorrhage."

"The least a friend can do for a friend. It is in the past. You have a long future with her ahead of you, if you can wait but a short time more. She will be free. Have no fear regarding that. Now, if you can concentrate on matters other than Christine, I would like to make a request of you."

"Of course, please go ahead."

"You are aware that my lady and I are to be wed?"

"Yes, I was there when you informed your father you are betrothed."

I nod.

"My request, Etienne is will you stand with me as best man during my nuptials?"

"Erik! This is no request! It is and shall be an honor to stand with you. May I enquire as to the date of this joyous occasion?"

"We have set the date for Christmas day. It will be a small, private affair as Christine's family are in America and my family consists of my father. I think my father is a little disappointed that we do not want a big wedding, but the two of us just wish to be wed."

"The two of you seem very close."

"Yes."

We stand waiting in the hall, he with his dreams and me with mine.

The door opens and Christine slips out.

"She says she will sleep now and if you wish to check on her later, you are most welcome."

"Thank you. I most assuredly will check on her."

Christine smiles wickedly, "I am most certain you shall!"

"I shall take my leave of you then. Have a safe journey and I will act as your best man and make certain to get you to the chapel on time."

We laugh.

"Thank you, Etienne. Have patience. She is worth it."

"Oh, Erik, I have no doubt of that."

"Farewell." And without waiting for a reply, he turns and walks down the hall.

Christine looks at me.

"Is he alright?"

"Yes. Just imagine if we were in love and couldn't touch one another."

"Too dreadful to consider. An empath not be able to touch? Impossible!"

"Yes, but that is what he lives with."

"Well, not for long. Shall we go home and get the girls?"

"Girls? Oh, Cecile would appreciate the humor of that I think."

"Where should we do this?"

"We need somewhere that has absolute privacy and is large enough for all of us to fit. We don't wish to travel out or back and have someone see us. Let me think for a moment."

She waits at my side patiently. I marvel that I ever called my existence before I met her, a life.

"I have it! Come with me."


	41. ,,,Of Our Senses

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Forty-One – Of Our Senses**

I lead through the château to the outlying guest wing and into a large upstairs storeroom.

"This should be private enough."

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, my beloved."

"Kiss me my dearest."

"I could never refuse you, mon chére cœur. As you wish."

I take her in my arms and we kiss one another. The kiss is at first gentle and playful, but rapidly and unexpectedly builds into a seething furnace of unchecked passion. She slips her hands inside my shirt. Her hands are frantic with need as they race across my chest. My own hands roughly grasp and knead her bottom. A small part of my mind knows this violence is not lovemaking, but I am powerless to stop. And the sex will begin soon if we do not stop this insanity soon. And, then I give in to the frenzy of desire. I hand myself over to the pleasures filling my senses. I do not wish to stop. I fear that I cannot stop. I feel my desire for her has become a living thing. It possesses me and drives me to go further than I ever thought to go. I take her mouth with mine ravaging her lips with my teeth and pull her body to mine.

"Christine," I gasp into her mouth and she groans into mine, "Erik!"

"I do not know or care where I end and you begin. I want you. I need to be inside you now. Oh Christine!"

Our bodies move together seeking nothing more than to join. Part of me fears this primal need. Part of me revels in it. My hands move of their own volition and I am shocked as I see myself rip the clothes from my beloved's body. We fall to the floor and lie on top of her shredded clothing. She is as out of control as I. Her hands usually so gentle tear at my clothing until at last she frees me. Her nails rake the flesh of my back. She lifts and arches her back to meet my thrusts with those of her own. Not deep enough! I want more. I push her back to the floor. I pin her wrists to the floor with one hand and with the other I lift and place her ankle on my shoulder. I switch hands and soon I have both of ankles each resting atop a shoulder. Without further hesitation, I plunge madly into her and … I am lost … pounding … driving … ramming … flesh … fire … burning … madness … wild … desire … need … harder … deeper … I … am … coming … into … her … light … her … screams … more … just … one … more … now … now … yes … more … no … again … for … times … deeper … give … take … piercing … sharpness … plunge … beating … going … down … screams … silence … redness … wetness … sticky … silence … blood … blood … blood!

"No! Merde! What?"

I see the world through a red haze and pray to God I have not killed her in my madness. I blink away the haze and realize there is no blood before my eyes, but I hear faint and weak heartbreaking sobs coming from below me.

"Oh no, Christine! Did I hurt you? I will never forgive myself. What have I done? I am an unforgivable animal. I am less than a beast!"

And then I do see blood everywhere. On her face, her breasts, her belly, her shoulder and her eyes stare vacantly at me. Two glass orbs that see nothing. With a small exhalation of breath, the sobs cease.

I gather her to me. Her body is limp, broken and bloody. I can no longer feel her inside this shell. She has gone. She is dead. I am as bad as de Chagny. No! Worse! Much worse!

"Oh let me die with her. I cannot live without her. What have I done? Why? Oh, why?"

I will never have peace or happiness again! I do not deserve to live! I will end my life now! Yes! There is her boot. I take the blade from the boot and ….


	42. This is a Lie!

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Forty-Two – This is a Lie!**

"So, this is what it is to die." I think. "Funny, I never thought to die like this."

I feel calm ready to accept my death at the hands of the man I adore. And then, I hear laughter, very faint, but it is there. Laughter. Not Erik's either. And then I feel the lie of it. Erik would never hurt me. He loves me just as I love him.

"Wake up, Christine! This is a lie!" I tell myself. I fight an unseen power and raise my hand. I force my hand to slap my face. The crack of the blow shocks me and I open my eyes.

I lie on the floor of the storeroom and Erik is fumbling with my boot. I see the reason as he pulls it from my boot and holds it tightly in his hand, one of my knives!

"Erik! No! I live! This is a lie!" My voice is loud, powerful and commanding. It comes from everywhere and nowhere.

With a strength and determination I never knew I had, I force my body to stand. Then drawing on the power of our love, I take Erik by the hand holding my knife and pull him with me out of the room.

As soon as we cross the threshold, an angry scream curdles the air. I slam the door shut behind us.

The bang of the slamming door startles the shocked and submissive Erik into raging action. He begins to wrestle me for the knife not realizing it is me whom he is fighting. I do not want to, but I have no choice. I slap his face, hard.

His eyes close and I see his face is wet from a torrent of spent tears.

Oh so gently, I call to him both with my voice and through our soul.

"Erik? My dearest darling? I am not dead. You did not ravage me. Something terrible lives in that storeroom. It filled our minds with lies. At the last, I saw the lie. I knew you would never hurt me. Never! Erik, my love. Do not leave me alone. Please, darling! I love you, Erik. Please give me back my knife. Please open your eyes and see that I am real and alive and yours."

I can feel he is afraid to believe that I am alive. Afraid he might have to discover his sin all over again and lose me once more.

"Erik. You promised me we would be married on Christmas day. Are you going to break your promise to me? I thought you wanted to spend the rest of your life learning everything about me? Erik, I am here. All you have to do is open your eyes and open your mind."

I caress his cheek with my hand and with the other hand, take the back of his head and pull his mouth to mine. His lips remain cold and he gives me no response to my kiss. He cannot deny me. I part his lips with my tongue and I kiss him deeply over and over again.

"Erik? It is I. The one you have named, "Beloved." I am alive. You could never harm me. I know that you fear you could, but it is just a fear. I am here. I love you, my dearest one. I love you, Erik."

I return my mouth to his and pour forth every scintilla of love and tenderness I feel for him. I caress his cheek, neck, shoulder and chest as I explore the depths of his mouth with my tongue. I vividly remember our first kiss. The memory of that kiss still leaves me just as breathless with desire as each succeeding kiss has. The intensity of my one-sided kiss exhausts me. I am just about ready to take a short rest before trying again when I am surprised to find my kiss returned one thousand-fold. I feel his tongue pierce my mouth and entwine with mine. His hands grasp me tightly, yet tenderly, to him.

Our lips part and I open my eyes.

"Erik?"

He opens his eyes and there is fear there. Horrible fear and guilt.

"Erik? My love?"

"I have no right to your love." And he turns his face away from me.

"Dearest, look at me! Nothing happened in that room. The only thing that happened was a spirit made us believe horrible things. Its purpose was to make us take our lives. It can only lie. It cannot cause harm, but it can use tricks to have us harm ourselves. Besides, whether you think you have a right to my love or not, I still and will always love you. Do you not remember? You are my air without you I cannot breathe."

He turns to me. His eyes are dull and lifeless. His eyes bore into my soul and transfix me, "You would love a man who cannot control his passion for you?"

"Sir, I can ask the same of you. You would love a woman who cannot control her passion for you?"

"God help me! Yes!"

"Oh my darling! Please hold me. Tell me you love me. Hold me. I was so frightened for you. I feared you would not return to me."

Tears begin to run down my cheeks.

"Oh Christine! You are my beloved. I can love only you."

He opens his arms and I throw myself into his embrace.

"Promise me you will never again doubt our love. The reason we survive is I did not doubt. I knew you could never harm me. Regardless of the evidence of my eyes. I trusted our soul. You must believe in us. I thought you did, but a lifetime of rejection is hard to overcome, I suppose."

"I thought I had gone mad and raped and murdered you. I lost control and could not stop myself from taking you and I took you brutally. I …."

"Stop! You did no such thing. Look at me! Are my clothes torn? Am I broken or bleeding? No. Those things were not real. The specter made you feel those things. I felt them as well. I thought I was dying and in believing I would have truly died. Erik, do you understand what that means? It means that if I had died in that room, I would have been responsible for my death, not you. You, in truth, never laid a hand on me. When I saw the lie, the monster could not control me. I saw the truth. Thank God! I saw the truth just in time to prevent you from taking your own life."

He releases me from his embrace, but he does not release my hand. He steps back and he inspects me carefully.

"See, my dearest? Not even a hint of a bruise. My clothing is undamaged. You never laid a hand on me in that room. All of it was a lie. All of it!"

"Oh, mon chére cœur. I will never understand how …."

"Hush, dearest. Just hold me, please?"

He pulls me into the comforting circle of his arms. Snuggling my head into the warmth of his chest I find all the comfort I need wrapped in his arms and listening to the beating of his heart.

After a time, I say to him, "What happened to us in that room is my fault. You know that don't you? I need to protect your mind until I can teach you how to deal with being an empath. My cursed gift has become yours, true?"

"There is no room for blame here. What is; is. Our love placed us in danger's path. Our love saved us. That said, I do agree that you need to teach me how to shield myself from the onslaught of emotions. Being near Etienne was very difficult. His emotions for Christine are almost exactly how I feel about you. However, since they cannot express their love, he is very tense. They wanted us to go away, but at the same time they knew it was unwise for the two of them to be alone."

I laugh, "You forget, dearest. Christine just gave birth yesterday. Even if they gave in to their desire, Etienne knows he cannot have her so close after giving birth. It can cause complications. However, you are correct. Christine may have just given birth yesterday, but her body doesn't care and either does his. If they given in to one kiss, I doubt they will be able to stop there. This is exactly how I felt about you the first time we made love. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't stop my desire for you. I still can't. Even right now, I burn for you to make love to me. I know we can't make love to one another all the time, but that doesn't stop me from wanting it."

"Mon chére cœur, I feel the same as you. So, as much as I do not wish to say it, I will. We have to go now. Won't this hallway serve our purpose?"

"Yes, I am more than a little afraid of the château now. This is the second unpleasant surprise I have experienced here."

"Well, the château is more than 500 years old, beloved. I do not know all of its history. Perhaps, when we have time, we should ask my father about places like that room?"

"Most certainly. Well," I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, "are you ready?"

"Yes. It will be good to see Trystin and Madame."

We stand facing one another, hold hands and look into each other's eyes. I open the door in my mind.

A flash of lightning.

A dry clap of thunder crackles.


	43. Two Bits

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Forty-Three – Two Bits …**

Before we have time to blink and regain our composure, a small body tackles us.

"Mommy!"

I hear the joyous sound of my daughter's voice and I blink rapidly. My sight clears and I am pleased find we are exactly where I told the door to take us. Erik gives me a pleased look.

"It seems to be getting easier to cross. Is that because you are directing us?"

"Perhaps. Or maybe the cosmos has become used to us crossing. I do not know. We may never know."

Releasing Erik's hands, I bend down and lift T into my arms.

"So, did you pack all of the things I told you?"

"Yep! CeCe helped me."

Erik and I look at one another.

"CeCe?" We both say at the same time.

Trystin giggles and says, "Jinx! Oh, that's what I call Madame. And made up the way to spell it, too! C – E – C– E. Whatcha think?"

"Very nice."

I am grinning at the look of disbelief on Erik's face.

"CeCe, alright. Any other changes around here since we've been gone?"

"Yep. I let CeCe borrow some of your clothes, mom."

"Well, that's okay."

"I hope it is Christine."

I turn in the direction of Madame's voice and can hardly believe what I see. Madame Giry is wearing a pair of my jeans and a Green Day t-shirt. She lifts her hand to Erik and me.

"Hey!"

I quickly look down at the floor and cover my mouth with my fist to stop the fit of hysterical laughter that I feel is about to erupt. It is a toss-up over which is funnier: Madame's attire and greeting or Erik's expression.

As soon as I regain my composure, I lift my head and say, "Hey, Gurl! Wha'sup?"

Trystin's lesson on cool must have consisted solely of the greeting for Madame appears at a loss on what to say.

"Never mind. Don't worry about it. You did great!" I tell her.

She clears her throat and looks down at the clothes.

"Trystin said you wouldn't mind if I borrowed these. I hope she was right."

"I am very pleased you could find something that fits you."

"You have a very interesting wardrobe, my dear. All of your trousers are the same length, but the waist is 26 on some and on others it's 34. Are those the clothes you wore when you were pregnant?"

"No, Madame. My late husband and I were the same height, but not the same weight. The smaller size is mine. The larger size is his."

"Oh. I am sorry, my dear. I did not mean to bring up sad memories."

Trystin hearing her words, says, "Oh! It's okay. Daddy's not sad any more. He knows that Erik is here to love me and mommy now."

Erik walks to her and gathers her up into his arms.

"And my little angel, where's my hug?"

"I left it in the closet. Do you want to go with me to get it?"

"Of course, which room?"

"My room!"

"I am yours to command, Mademoiselle!"

Off the two of them go and after a moment I hear the heavenly music of Erik's rumbling laugh and Trystin's giggles.

"T! We leave in 20 minutes. Look around and make sure you didn't forget anything. I'm not sure how long we'll be gone, so over-packing is okay. Make sure you bring your tooth brush, tooth paste, shampoo and hair brush, too. Okay? Oh! Don't forget to bring your school books!"

"'kay!"

I smile at Madame.

"I've missed her so much. Thank you for watching over her. Is everything alright at school? Any messages I need to know about?"

"School has been fine. Miss Becker says she misses you volunteering every morning and hopes things settle down soon. There were some calls about repairs. I had to call the plumber twice. And, we fill the courtyard fountain this morning. Other than that everything has been very nice and very quiet."

"Cecile, if we decide to stay in this time, you have a job at my company if you wish."

"Well, we will see, but thank you."

"Do you have everything you want packed?"

"Yes. I am ready. Where exactly are we going?"

"You and Trystin will be staying with Erik's father at Château de Montmuran. Christine de Chagny and her newborn son, Erik are also guests at the château. I believe Etienne de Wolfe will be a frequent visitor. Doctor de Wolfe is a physician and he delivered baby Erik. He is keeping a very close eye on the Vicomtessa. Erik and I will be leaving for Paris as soon as the four of us return. We will be attempting to create confusion over Christine's whereabouts by creating false trails and rumors. We also intend to pay a visit to the Conservatoire and the Opera House. Christine, Erik and I plan to produce an opera and we need to make arrangements with the composer, Léo Delibes. You've heard of him? He writes beautiful ballets. Perhaps, you would be interested in being our ballet mistress?"

"We shall see, my dear. We shall see."

"Well, I believe I shall take a shower. That and hair shampoo are the two things I miss the most when I'm in your time. I shouldn't be long."

"Take your time, my dear. Why don't you have Erik join you? I'm certain that he wouldn't mind scrubbing your back for you."

"Why Cecile Giry! I do believe you are condoning our illicit love affair! Why next you'll tell me you are for the equality of women!"

"No, my dear. I simply wish for my boy's happiness."

"You aren't that much older than Erik. How can you think of him as a son? I was 12 years older than Erik and I wanted him from the first moment I saw him. Wait. I was older than you! You never wanted him?"

"Oh, my dear, no. I was much too afraid of him. Also, I pitied him and he knew it. He had a quick temper before you came into his life. He never murdered anyone, but I often feared he would. Besides, I knew there was someone for him somewhere and I knew it was not me. For a time, I thought it might be Christine Daae, but he did not love her. Her cared for her as a brother does a sister, but no more than that. I believe he knew you existed. Somewhere deep down in his secret heart. He either knew you were out there or he dreamed you and you came into being through the force of his will. Either way, I never loved him as you do nor did I want him. I remember the first time I saw the two of you together outside my door. My heart said a perfect match, but my head panicked and thought he had kidnapped you. It seems so long ago."

"It does indeed with the way time seems to hopping back and forth, I wouldn't even be able to tell you exactly how long it has been since Erik and I met. I would have to sit down with Erik and it would take the two of us to figure it out. All I know is regardless of how many days I've known him, each one makes my love for him grow stronger and deeper."

"I wish the two of you many happy days. Now, off to your shower. I will fetch Erik for you and keep Trystin occupied for awhile."

"Yes, Madame!"

The bathroom is neat and clean. The door easily slides open and I turn on the hot water. The water needs to run a little while before it gets hot, so I brush my teeth while I wait. At last the water is hot and I am ready to jump in. There is a knock at the door and I scramble into the shower and slide the door closed.

As I adjust that water temperature, I call out, "Yes!"

Erik opens the door a few inches and says, "May I come in?"

"I don't know." I sing out playfully. I quickly change my tune as I see the door begin to close. "Oh, Erik! I'm only teasing!" I am pleased to discover that the teasing is mutual. Erik quickly slips into the room.

"I have been told I need to have my back scrubbed." He says. "And that you may be available to perform this service. May I inquire as to your availability?"

Hearing the laughter in his voice fills me with joy. I had been hiding my worry over his mental state after the incident in the storeroom. His mind feels clear and happy. "Bless, Trystin." I think.

In response to his inquiry, I slide open the shower door and say, "Please come in! I just had a cancellation."

"One moment, please." He says. I see he is still dressed, so I close the door again.

As I wait for him to disrobe, I wash my hair. It feels so good. The shampoos of Erik's time are so close to soap that after washing your hair you have to put oil in it to give it shine. And, of course, the oil attracts dirt so … vicious circle. Also, the hair styles of his time are so restrictive. Having all of this long, lovely hair and then having to keep it plaited and wound about my head! What a waste! I rinse the last of the suds from my hair and then work the conditioner onto the bottom half of my hair. I unconsciously begin singing as I rinse the conditioner from my hair. I find myself singing, The Point of No Return. I love that I can sing both male and female parts without changing keys or pitch.

The door slides open and Erik peeks in.

"Madame, your range makes me superfluous." He smiles.

"Never, sir. I cannot sing both parts of the duet, so you are definitely necessary. Won't you come in, my dearest?"

He is so tall he has to duck his head as he enters the shower. This is the first time I have ever seen him walking about unclothed. All of our previous encounters began clothed and ended under blankets. I had always thought him beautiful before, but now I can truly admire just how masculine his body is. His neck is thick and muscled. Those muscles seem to run the length of his body. His chest powerful and firm, but natural power not a chiseled Narcissus. His waist is surprisingly small and hips slim. The flow of muscle continues in his buttocks through his thighs and end at his calves. He is truly delicacy upon which I wish to feast.

"Why is it that I feel like a fly being invited into the spider's parlor?"

"I think you must have unconsciously heard something I just thought about you."

"And what was that?"

"I thought that you are a delicacy upon which I wish to feast."

"Madame, I am yours to consume."

He enters the stream of water with me and for a brief wonderful time we lovingly consume one another.

Later, we scrub one another and I wash his hair. At last, I am finished. He however, needs a shave. I dash out of the shower to the sink vanity and return with a mirror, shaving cream and razor. I hang the mirror on the hook my husband installed in the shower and then show Erik how to use the can of shaving cream and the razor. I feast upon one more of his sweet kisses then slide the door closed. I wipe up the water I've let drip onto the floor and then finish drying myself. I sigh and stretch enjoying the post-shower feeling of being reborn and the post-coital glow of our lovemaking. I savor the moment as I know just how few and fleeting they are.

I take a hand towel and wipe the steam from the mirror over the vanity. I look at my reflection in the mirror and shake my head. I'm 24 years old again! I realize that I haven't really looked at myself in the mirror since the transformation. I wipe more steam from the mirror so I can see all of my reflection. Amazing! No more gray hair, my breasts sit high on my chest, my belly is flat, my butt is firm, the few dimples on the backs of my thighs are gone, the surgical scar on my abdomen is gone, my laugh lines are gone and so are the two small furrows between my brows. I look at my left thigh then lift my right arm and smile. Good my birth marks are still there. Have to keep some of my flaws! I lift my chin and frown. The scar on my chin is gone, but the memory is still there.

"Great! I'm a walking paradox!" I mutter.

Overall though, I'm pretty pleased with my reflection.

"I can live with it." I laugh.

"What's so funny out there?" Erik calls from the shower.

"I am."

"Why?"

"I just looked myself over in the mirror for the first time since … you know."

"And that's funny?" He sounds truly perplexed, poor dear.

"It's female thing. Don't worry. I don't want to change a thing. I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth." I towel dry my hair and then begin to comb it.

"Good."

The shower door slides open and he steps out into the room. The sight of him takes my breath away. I shake my head and finish my hair. I take one of the robes from the back of the door and toss it to Erik.

"If we are ever going to leave, you had better put this on." I sigh and shake my head regretfully. I don the other robe and kiss his cheek.

"I'm going to go get dressed in the bedroom. I love you." And after giving him a playful squeeze, I leave the bathroom.

My closet is full of clothes I no longer wear, but I keep all of my vintage clothing in one special spot in the corner of the closet. I pull down the garment bar and swing out the rack. I flip through the clothes and finally decide on a pair of dark brown gaucho pants and an ivory peasant blouse.

"Cecile, can you help me for a moment?"

After a few moments, she comes into my bedroom. She is wearing her skirt and blouse once more.

"How can I help you, my dear?"

"Can you lace my corset?"

"Of course. How was your shower?"

"Relaxing and refreshing, thank you."

"So, have the two of you decided when you will marry?"

"Why, yes, we have. We are to be married on Christmas day. How did you know?"

"Erik has never been a very patient man. I am surprised he has agreed to wait that long. Isn't your relationship difficult?"

"Not really. I was only there two nights and we managed not to ruin my reputation. But, I can see where, how should I put it … things may become difficult."

She laughs and pulls the laces tight on my corset.

"So, where will you two be married?"

"Erik's father asked us to be married at the Château's chapel and Erik agreed. I am so pleased that the two of them have buried the past. Truly, Erik has forgiven his father and," I pause considering our link, "yes, he loves his father. We learned things about his mother that gave Erik peace about her as well. Unfortunately, she died just a few months ago. Jean-Paul's wife, Gwendyn died last December and Jean-Paul married Genevieve before she died. Pretty amazing, huh?"

"Very. He married a scullery maid?"

"No. He married the woman he had loved and treated as his wife the entire time he was married to Gwendyn. He loved Genevieve very much and I believe that if Erik and he had not made their peace, Jean-Paul would have died before the year was out. When I first arrived, he looked so frail and sickly and this morning, he looked very robust and healthy. He knows everything. We told him this morning and we found out that Erik inherited his ability to quiet talk from his father. His father is a soothsayer. He believes us. He told me that he would tutor Trystin while she is there. He is so excited about being a grandfather. He knows that you are coming too. I believe you will be quite comfortable and happy there."

"Everything is going very well then."

"Yes. I keep waiting for something to go wrong. I'm not used to things being this wonderful."

"My dear, have you ever considered that both you and Erik have suffered enough? I think that it is time for both of you to find what you both have been searching for your entire lives."

"And what is that?"

She sighs. "You both seek a happily ever after."

I have no response to that. Erik enters the room wrapped in a robe.

"I laid out fresh clothes for you in the den, Erik."

He looks sharply at Madame and then at me.

"_Is everything alright, beloved?"_ He thinks to me.

"_Yes, my dearest. She is just trying to get all the latest news out of me and make certain that everything is alright. Go on and get dressed. We leave as soon as we're dressed."_ I respond silently.

"Well, I'll leave you ladies to your gossip."

Madame opens her mouth to reply and then her mouth snaps shut. She turns to me.

"You told him and I couldn't hear? I couldn't see it on your faces either. The two of you really aren't two anymore are you? The two of you ... your bond is ... is it now complete? When did this happen?"

"I shall answer your questions in the order asked. Yes. No. Yes, I think. At sunrise this morning."

"I am very happy for you, my dear."

"Thank you. We are happy as well, but I need to teach Erik how to deal with my empathy. We had a rather frightening experience in a storeroom of the château just before we arrived."

I proceed to tell her the entire story of my rape and murder and Erik's attempt at suicide.

"You realize, of course, that the spirit played upon Erik's secret fear. Erik fears that he could lose control and kill. He has always feared himself more than any other person."

"I know that. The one constant in Erik's life is people telling him that he is a monster. He heard it so often a part of him believes it. A part of him will always believe it. However, I know that he is wrong. He is a good man, damaged by the world he lived in, but we are one now and we do not kill. I, too, have always known that a dark violence lives within me. I believe that of the two of us, I am the one that is capable of killing, not Erik. What he has felt and feared his entire life is my violence, not his. Together we are stronger than alone. We heal one another. I have said all I intend to say of this matter. We will not speak of this again."

Turning away from Madame, I sit on the bed and bend to pull on my boots. My abruptness stuns her, but she is not my mother and I need not explain any more to her. Enough talking, it is now time to act.

I hear the voice speak clearly within my mind, _"You were rude and cruel. She will become as frightened of you as she is of Erik. It is your guilt that causes this. You did not kill her. Her death is not your fault. I bent God's rule as far as I dare that day, but it was not your fault that you did not interpret the dream correctly. I am truly sorry I could not help you more that day, but it was her time. It was the last lesson. She choose, not you. Now it is up to you to learn, live, love and grow. You are complete! Do not let all you have slip away to anger. Love."_

I want to ignore the voice. It is easier, so much easier to spiral down into the morass of self-pity and loathing. A familiar comfort. Yet, feeling Erik's presence in my mind, I know I cannot take him down with me. I must chart a new course and take its first steps here. Finishing with my boots, I inspect myself in the mirror. I can feel Cecile behind me staring at me.

"I was rude. My remark was uncalled for and I apologize. I felt as if I had lied to you. My first child, Adrianna, I have always felt I killed her. And when I said we do not kill that my words were a lie. It was my guilt over her death that provoked me. There are some things even true love cannot completely heal." I smile wanly at her.

"My dear, thank you for telling me. I could hear the lie in your words and did not know what to think." She comes to me and does the one perfect thing she could do, she held out her arms to me. Allowing her embrace, it reminds me of my mother and I begin to cry. She strokes my hair and murmurs words of comfort. An unreleased torrent of tears and sorrow flow from my eyes and she takes it all. She takes it and soothes it. And lets me know that it is all right for me to have these feelings. That even though I feel this way. I am wrong. It is not my fault and it is time to let go. Time to concentrate on the living and not on the dead. It is a good thing to grieve, but grieve and move on. Most of all, she silently gives me permission to be imperfect.

As the realization enters my mind, I start and slip from her embrace. I wipe my tears with the back of my hand and thank her.

"Nonsense, my child, you never did that after they died did you?" She reaches into her bodice, withdraws a handkerchief and offers it to me.

"No. I never did. Never had anyone who offered me a place to do it. No, thank you." I walk to the nightstand and take two tissues out of the box. I wipe my eyes and then blow my nose. As I toss the tissue into the waste paper basket, I shrug.

"It would be a shame to soil it, especially since we don't have time to launder it before we go."

We smile at one another. This time our embrace brings comfort to us both.

"Thank you for not jumping to conclusions and thinking … well, you know."

"My dear, I was mostly concerned because of your sudden change. I have never seen you like that. I suppose Erik needs to teach you some things as well."

She smiles at my confusion.

"He needs to teach you about how to handle his mercurial moods."

This time we both smile.

"Where is he anyway?" I stamp my booted foot with feigned petulance, which brings a soft chuckle from Cecile.

And, right on cue, Erik enters the room carrying Trystin upon his back, one suitcase under an arm and a suitcase in each hand.

"Is this all of them?" He groans theatrically.

His eyes fall on me. His silent words form within my head. _"I felt your distress and thought you might need some time. Are you all right now? Are you both all right?"_

"_Yes. Yes. She is a very special person."_

"_Believe me I know it more than most."_ His simple words belie the depth of his feelings. _"She is watching us, ma chére cœur."_

"_I know. And even though it was uncomfortable for her, I believe she misses the quiet talks with you. Just woman's intuition."_

He repeats, "Madame! Is this all of the bags?"

She nods.

"Well, I believe it is time to be going now."

"Let me take one last look around the place. You know, make sure everything is in order."

He sets the bags down and Trystin continues to remain perched on his back. I give her butt a soft pat as I walk by.

"Everything double-checked and in order. Let's go!"

Erik and I stand facing one another. We place the luggage on the floor between us and then Cecile and Trystin. Everything is within the circle of our clasped hands.

We raise our eyes to meet.

I open the door and we travel.

A gentle far-off rumble of thunder.


	44. Let's Ride!

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Forty-Four – Let's Ride!**

We stand in a dark hall of the château. I release Erik's hands and check on Trystin and Cecile. They are fine and so is our luggage. Lastly, we check on one another.

"You seem very fine to me, my dearest."

"As do you, beloved."

A small sweet kiss.

"Trystin. Cecile. Are you ready to meet my father?"

"All right! I get two grandpas now. Unh huh! Unh huh!"

Erik and Cecile gape with bemused affection and I roll my eyes.

"Oh, I can see you're really going to fit in here, T. Well, lead the way, Erik!"

"Oh come on, mom! I'll be good. Don't worry. I was just being silly."

"T, you've got to be careful. Weird is not wonderful here. Cecile … I mean, CeCe, and Jean-Paul will watch over you, but I don't want you to talking to the servants, okay? They might think you're possessed or something. They're not going to understand your sense of humor. It could hurt their feelings, okay? T, I really need you to turn on your ears. Okay? Do you understand what I just said?"

She stops and turns to me with her beautiful eyes boring into me.

"Mom, I heard and I won't mess around. I promise."

"Thank you, sweetheart. Come here and give your old ma a hug."

She flies into my outstretched arms and we hug mightily. I place a silent blessing on her in the form of a kiss on the top of her head.

"Let's go!"

Erik leads us through the corridors to his father's library. The introductions go very well. So, well that Erik and I are able to depart with only the smallest of clings from Trystin. As I leave the room, I look over my shoulder for a last glimpse of my child. She is happily engaged in conversation with Cecile and Jean-Paul. I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, then walk out of the room.

After a quick trip to our rooms to retrieve our saddle bags, we leave the château and walk to the stables. I remain in the shadows and watch as Erik inspects the horses, occasionally silently asking me what I think about a horse. Erik is an accomplished horseman and I grew up riding everything, but English and side saddle. I prefer bareback, but know that would be too unusual for a woman and would not go unnoticed. I decide upon a handsome roan and Erik chooses a dappled mare. At last, all is ready. We lead our horses from the stable and mount in the courtyard.

The winter sun, while still high in the sky, is rapidly moving towards the western horizon.

"Do you think we will make Rennes tonight?" I ask.

"Without any problem at all, ma chére cœur. That is if you can keep up with me."

I see his eyes flash and he raises his brows.

"Do try to keep up, beloved." He winks and off he goes at a trot down the drive to the drawbridge. He hails the keeper and after a few moments, the bridge lowers and we cross.

"It's open road from here to Rennes. It's hilly terrain and the road is somewhat rough, but there is a road all the way. It's about 28 kilometers. We should make it in about two and one-half hours. Ride, beloved! Ride!"

"No, dearest! Fly! Fly!"

We both laugh and ride into our future together. Other than my hike around the château to the drawbridge, this is my first experience of the French countryside. The first thing I notice is the aromatic smell of the trees on either side of the road. The air is brisk and invigorating. The road is rutted and muddy. Navigating its twists and turns, uphill and downhill takes concentration and leaves little time for sightseeing. We alternate between a walk, a canter and a gallop. Erik pulls up suddenly as the road we are traveling on ends and we must travel either left or right. He turns his horse's head to the right and I follow his lead.

The sun is still a few hours above the horizon. We seem to be making good time and the new road is wider and less rutted. My horse longs to run, but I hold him in check. No sense risking him and having him come up lame. The horse's gait is smooth. I rub his neck, lean close to him and speak soft words of encouragement.

"Thatta a boy, Laddygold! Ho! Ha!"

He is a wonderful animal, intelligent, strong and spirited. It's a shame we leave him and the mare in Rennes. I would like to get to know this animal better.

Erik and I race along the road to Rennes. Racing one another and racing the setting sun. The road here is winding and hilly, the roadside densely packed with brush and trees making it difficult for me to tell how far we have gone. I use the setting of the sun as my timer. From what Erik said, we are racing the sun. It will be a close race to see who wins: the sun or us.

The air is definitely growing cold and I pull up the hood of my cloak.

As the last ray of sunlight fades, we round a long, gentle corner and find the city of Rennes before us. Wide avenues and widely spaced buildings present a lovely site. The architecture is a mix of clay, wood timber frame and stone buildings. So different from my world. I wonder what modern day Rennes looks like. We slow our horses to a walk and Erik pulls up so we can walk side-by-side.

""How are you, beloved?"

"My nose is just a little cold. Other than that, I'm fine. This is a beautiful city."

"Indeed, it is. More so now than ever before."

"What?"

"Well, I've never been in Rennes with you before, have I?"

"Why sir! Flattery will get you everywhere!"

We laugh quietly.

The journey through the city takes about 15 minutes and ends in front of a large brown barn.

"Don't worry. The horses will only be here overnight. In the morning, one of the stablemen from Montmuran will be here to take them home. All right? I know you've become attached to Laddygold. He will be all right. I will make certain of that. Stay here, while I make the arrangements."

"Never fear, my dearest. I shall await you right here."

He leads the horses into the barn and after a few moments, returns carrying both of our bags.


	45. The Cottage

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Forty-Five – The Cottage**

"Ready? This part of the trip will be rather boring."

I consider his expression for a moment to see if he is teasing. If he is, he has hidden it rather well, for I cannot catch a glimpse of it in his face or sense it in his mind."

"So, I have lost my allure?"

"Pardonnez- moi?"

I realize that he is not teasing me and that something has definitely distracted him. No, not distracted...distressed! My love is distressed!

"Dearest? What is wrong?"

His eyes are troubled and he bites his lower lip in exactly the same way I do when I deal with my empathy. (Hey! I didn't say it was a good way, but it is a way of dealing.)

"Can't you feel that?"

I take his arm for support. I draw back the curtain and gaze out the window of my mind. The emotions of thousands of people beat against the glass.

I hiss in horror and reach for Erik's mind then draw him into the peace of my mental shelter.

"Hush, my dearest. That's better now isn't it?" I caress his mind with mine and he calms a little. "See why I've always avoided people? And you thought you avoided people when you lived in the sub-basement of the opera house? Ha! I avoided people in the light of day, while walking in their midst! They have no control over their emotions! They just let them gush out all over the place. It's worse than living in a sewer. They flood my mind with their emotional waste. It's taken me years to build this cottage in my mind. Most of the time, I am safe here, but there have been a few times when even this was not enough. However, the protection of the cottage is better than being out in the storm completely unsheltered. I can protect you for now, but you must learn how to protect your own mind as well. We will begin lessons after we are settled in Paris, okay?"

I prattle for a time. Drawing him into an embrace, I hold the man both physically and mentally. Gently rocking him to help calm him. After a time, he sighs.

"Thank you. I'm all right now."

"You're welcome. Yes, you are all right as long as you remain with me. So, I guess that settles it then," I whisper, "You will stay here with me in the cottage and I will teach you how to either build one of your own or to create whatever visualization works best for you. Please, my love, make yourself at home here."

He draws me close and places an all too brief, yet passionate kiss upon my lips. I feel my body respond to even this brief touch of his. The burning rushes through my chest and spreads throughout my body. My reaction to his kiss seems to have restored his confidence and he leads me away from the stables.


	46. His Plan

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Forty-Six – His Plan**

As we walk away from the stables, I attempt to lighten the mood by gently teasing him. "Really, you are incorrigible, my dearest! Here we are walking down a public street and you make me wish...ahhh! I love that you can make me feel so! So, where are we going now? To the train?"

"Yes. We buy our tickets and then I need to wire ahead to Paris. I plan a grand entrance for our arrival at the station. One, which will cause the gossips' tongue to wag with speculation about our reason for being in Paris. After all, we are to be performers as well as producers of this opera. And we need to make an entrance so the papers will make mention of us. Publicity is the key to drawing in an audience. We need people talking so word will spread to those in the upper classes. The Vicomte fancies himself a purveyor of the arts. If word spreads about a lavish production at the opera house, I would lay wager he will offer his patronage. That would be ironic. Would it not? Have de Chagny finance the opera that sets his wife free."

We stroll, arm-in-arm along the beautiful avenue. At a large stone bridge, we cross over a river, which glistens with the reflected light of the gas street lamps.

"It's beautiful." I murmur.

"Yes," he agrees. "That is the Canal d'Ille et Rance. The badly polluted river ran through the city. After the fire of 1720, the city dug out and cleaned the canal. The project wasn't finished until the 1850's. The canal is quite beautiful in daylight. The clear water has a reddish tint from the clay in the soil. During the spring run off, the water is still red, but it becomes thick and clouded with mud. It is quite ugly then and dangerous as well. I like the canal best at this time of year. Listen. Doesn't it sound peaceful?"

I see a street sign just as we step off the bridge. We are at the intersection of Rue St. Malo and Boulevard de Chézy. We turn onto the boulevard and continue our walk.

"Yes. I apologize for interrupting your soliloquy, but I thought we were already near the station. We seem to be walking away from the center of the town."

"We are ma chére cœur. May I ask for you to indulge me and allow me to take slight detour from our plans? At most, it will delay us for an hour. It is still early only five o'clock and the trains run until midnight."

"Erik, of course! Do you even need to ask?"

He stops and turns to me. "You want no explanation?"

"Dearest, I need no explanation from you. I trust you completely. No second thoughts, no backward glances."

"Do you love me?"

"Yes. You know I do."

"Good! Come with me!"

While I need no explanation, I am curious about our destination. However, since I don't know Rennes, I am completely at his mercy. It feels grand!

A horse cab and driver are sitting at the side of the road. Erik hails the man. He releases my arm and walks to the driver. They seem to be striking a deal and I see money change hands. The driver walks to his cab, swings the door open and holds out his hand to me.

"May I assist you, Mademoiselle?"

"Thank you." I allow him to help me step up into his hack and move over so Erik will have room to sit. The seat is small, but I don't mind having an excuse to cuddle up with Erik.

"It's just a short ride, ma chére cœur."

"Monsieur, I am not in need of your concern. I am blissfully happy right where I am."

I snake my arms around his arm and hug my face to his bicep. Unfortunately, he wasn't exaggerating about the brevity of the trip. Less than five minutes later, the driver halts the cab. While I am making a concerted effort not to pry into what exactly Erik is up to, he is positively exuding a nervous excitement I have never felt from him before.

_What on earth is he planning? _I give a mental shrug. _I will know soon enough._

The driver opens the cab door. Erik exits and turning quickly offers me his hand. I take it and step down from the cab. I look before me, my gaze drawn up as I follow the line of the building before me. It is a tall white stone church. The entrance is a dark arch, tall and wide. Above it there is another dark arch.

The driver shutting the cab door behind me startles me. Erik, still holding my hand in his, leads me up the stairs. He pauses as his hand touches the door and turns to me. His eyes bright and wide, his grip upon my hand tightening, he falls to one knee and looks intently into my eyes.

"Christine," he begins, "I love you. You know I do. And I know you love me. I asked and you accepted, but I must ask again. Will you marry me? Now?"

His eyes are dark and earnest. He continues before I can draw my breath to reply.

"Ever since I asked you, I have been thinking about marrying you and being married to you. I think about it all the time. It sometimes proves to be quite a distraction to me. With all that we must do soon in Paris, I need to have my wits about me. We have so much to do and plan. We can keep our marriage a secret. That way you can still be our secret. And, if our sleeping arrangements cause a scandal, we can prove that we are in truth already married. It will be one less thing about which I need be concerned. I do not wish to ruin your reputation, yet I need you. And simply, I do not wish to wait any longer. Please?"

The words tumble out of his mouth in a such a rush that I stand on tiptoe and silence him with my lips.

"Yes." I breathe into his mouth.

He returns my kiss and then lifting me into the air, spins me about as he laughs merrily.

"Why were you so nervous, dearest? Did you truly believe I would refuse you?"

"Well, you seemed so happy with the plans to wed at Montmuran and I did not wish to disappoint you."

"Dearest, we can still be married at Montmuran. This will be _our_ wedding. The other will be for those we love to witness. Tonight, will be _our_ wedding night, my dearest."

"_Our_ wedding night." He agrees and returns my body to the earth, but our soul soars.

He opens the door and we enter. There are a few scattered people praying inside. I quickly raise the hood of my cloak to cover my head. I remember, almost too late, that when inside a church, the rules require women to cover their heads. I am surprised to see Erik dip his fingers into the holy water vessel next to the door and make a sign of the cross. He smiles at my surprise.

"For a time, I thought the church would provide me a place to hide from the world. And, they did, but I was not made for celibacy so we parted ways." He whispers.

I, too, dip my fingers into the holy water and make a sign of the cross. I say a silent prayer.

"_I thank you for this gift  
This gift of love  
This gift wrapped  
Within the body of this man  
This gift assures my today  
My tomorrow and always  
I promise him  
I promise you  
I promise to love him forever  
And always be true."_

"Sir, I rejoice for that parting of ways. It brought you to me."

He squeezes my hand in reply.

A tall, rather handsome young man wearing a black cassock walks towards us. The expression he wears is pleasant, but guarded.

"May I welcome you to the Church of Saint-Etienne and Saint-Augustin? Our doors our open to all who wish to worship the Lord God. Mass is not until morning and we hear confessions after Mass."

As he pauses to take a breath, Erik gently interrupts him.

"Father, we have an urgent matter and we need your assistance."

The young man seems to find reassurance in Erik's calling him, "Father." His demeanor relaxes somewhat.

"How may I help, my son?"

I feel Erik drawing on my writing abilities as he speaks.

"This good lady and I are in love. We are betrothed and our bands posted for Christmas day, but an emergency has called us to Paris. Father, we love each other very much. Circumstances have necessitated we travel alone together. I am concerned for her reputation and wish to marry her tonight."

A pleased smile erupts on the young priest's face. He turns to me.

"My child, do you wish to marry this man?"

"Yes, Father. I do."

"And are you both Roman Catholic?"

We answer in unison, "Yes, Father."

"Then I believe I can help you, my son."

Erik reaches forward and places his hand on the man's forearm.

"My lady and I thank you from the bottom of our hearts."

"No thanks are needed, my son. Please. Come with me."

Erik and I follow the young priest down the center aisle of the church. There are three altars in this church. The center altar is the largest, yet simplest in design. The side altars are small and made from very ornately carved marble.

The priest leads us through the sacristy through a small changing room to an even smaller office. He walks to the desk and after rummaging about withdraws two printed sheets of parchment and a fountain pen.

"I just need some information for the marriage certificates. And then we will return to the church. I have found it best to do the paperwork before the wedding because after the wedding, well, before is better."

Erik and I nod our agreement. I feel as if the smile I wear on my face will split me in two. My husband-to-be is outwardly calm, but just below the surface I feel his raging emotions. I begin to ask a silent question, but the priest speaks first.

"May I have the groom's name, date and place of birth, please?"

I feel Erik pause, but only for a moment. I hear him ask God's forgiveness as he lies to the priest.

**"**Erik Luis Anton Vuillard de Mornay, November 13, 1855, le Château de Montmuran, le département de l'Ille et Vilaine, Bretagne."

The man writes and then pauses.

His voice speaks softly within my mind, _"The lie is necessary as I no longer look my age. Might I suggest you use 1857 as your year of birth?"_ I acknowledge his words with a slight nod of my head.

"My son, de Mornay or DeMornay?"

"de Mornay, Father. My baptismal certificate is here in this church and will bear me out."

The priest lifts a hand.

"I am not accusing you of anything, my son. Simply, I am confessing my surprise. I was unaware Monsieur le Comte had a son."

"There were circumstances …." Erik looks at the priest for a moment and then turns away.

"You need not say any more. I do not believe the sins of the fathers should be visited on the son."

Erik's eyes tentatively return to those of the younger man. They share a look of understanding and the priest places a compassionate hand on Erik's shoulder.

"_This is a good man."_ Silently, I agree.

The priest removes his hand from Erik's shoulder and turns to me.

May I have the bride's name, date and place of birth, please?"

"Christine Jean-Marie Anastasia Maire, November 4, 1857, Brest, le département de Finistère, Bretagne."

I see Erik cover his grin by clearing his throat.

"Almost finished. There. Erik, I need you to sign both certificates here. One for the church and one for you."

Erik takes the pen and signs his name.

"And now, the bride. Just make your mark there and there, my child."

I cannot resist the temptation. I sign my assumed full name and add a flourish beneath it as I am accustomed to do.

The priest is shocked, but quickly hides it.

"My apologies. I assumed. Well, God has chosen to teach me a lesson in humility this day." He smiles at me sincerely.

"No apologies are necessary, Father. I am the eldest of three daughters and our father who is a physician had all of us tutored in our letters as well as mathematics, science and history."

"Your father is a very unusual man to treat his daughters thus. I am not certain if most would think him wise or think him a fool."

"I choose to think him wise. I am most fortunate that he is my father."

The priest blows on the wet ink for a few moments.

"Erik, here this is for you to keep. This document certifies the marriage you are about to enter into. Tomorrow, I will notify the town registrar of your nuptials and he will record it in the town's logs. This second document will remain as a part of the church's records." He claps his hands together and rubs them for a moment. "Shall we proceed to the church?"

Our return trip through the back rooms of the church is a blur. I feel as if I am floating on clouds instead of walking on the ground.

The priest pauses in the sacristy and dons his vestments. We then continue to the smaller altar to the right of the center altar.

"Erik and Christine, please wait here for a moment."

The priest walks to an old woman who is clutching a rosary in her hands and speaks to her. She nods, rises and walks over to us. She smiles, but says nothing. The priest approaches another woman who kneels in prayer. He speaks to her as well and she too nods and joins us at the altar. The priest returns to stand before us.

"Erik, please stand here. Christine, you here. Rose, you here. And, Teresa, here. Very good. I believe we are ready to begin if the bride and groom are ready?"

We both nod.

"Erik, the ring?" The priest seems apologetic in his request and I begin to take my engagement ring from my finger. Erik surprises us both when he removes a small jeweler case from his pocket. He opens the box and removes two simple gold bands.

"Father, I would like to wear a ring as a sign that on this day I made a promise to this wonderful lady to be her good and faithful husband. Would that be all right?"

"That is most certainly all right. Let us begin."

I cannot relate now any of the words spoken by the priest for they were in Latin and my Latin is spotty at best. However, we did speak our vows using words I understood and will hold in my heart until the day I die.

Erik speaks his vows first.

"_I, Erik, take you, Christine, to be my wife.  
I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health.  
I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.  
Christine, with all my worldly goods I do thee endow.  
Christine, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity.  
In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."_

And then it is my turn.

"_I, Christine, take you, Erik, to be my husband.  
I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health.  
I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.  
Erik, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity.  
In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."_

Finally, the ceremony concludes with the priest's prayer.

"_The two of you have declared your consent before the Church.  
May the Lord in his goodness strengthen your consent  
and fill you both with his blessings.  
What God has joined together let no man put asunder  
I proclaim what was once two now joined as one.  
Tokens of your promises to one another  
You have exchanged with one another on this day.  
As the circles of gold you wear upon your hands  
have no beginning and no end, so does your love have no beginning or end.  
Go forth and live in love all the days of your lives.  
I declare you now before the sight of God and man to be man and wife  
In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen.  
Erik and Christine,  
I ask that you now seal your union before the sight of God and man with a kiss.  
Erik, you may kiss your bride."_

We turn to one another and Erik lifts the cloak from my head.

"My darling wife, our first wedded kiss."

And he proceeds to make it a short, but memorable one.

The priest steps towards Erik and taking his hand in his, shakes it in congratulations. He turns to me, smiles, leans forward then shyly places a dry kiss on my forehead.

"_May you both be blessed with this love all of your days.  
Congratulations to you both!"_

We madly smile and thank him profusely. Erik hands a pouch to the priest.

"Father, a donation to the church from Erik and Christine de Mornay."

He smiles and his eyes grow wide as he feels the weight of it.

"Thank you both."

"Farewell, Father! Words cannot begin to express our thanks! We must hurry now for we have a train to catch."

We turn and leave the church our arms linked tightly together as a husband and a wife.


	47. Rennes to Le Mans

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Forty-Seven – Rennes to Le Mans**

Another surprise awaits me outside the church. The cab driver has returned and is waiting with the door to his cab open. He holds out a hand to me and steadies me as I enter the cab. I gasp at the sight and smell. The inside of the cab has a layer of red rose petals covering every surface. I take my seat and my husband enters the cab and takes his place next to me.

"Erik! This is wonderful! I love the rose petals! You, sir," I shake my head I have no words, "thank you for this unexpected event. I cannot think of a way our wedding could have been more perfect. I love you."

"And, I love you."

Our arms slide around one another and our lips touch softly at first. As always, the fires of our passion grow rapidly and we soon begin to lose control.

Our timely arrival at the train station saves us from making a spectacle of ourselves.

The driver (bless him!) knocks on the cab's door allowing us a moment to gather our wits and set our clothing to rights.

We alight from the cab and Erik throws the driver another pouch. He catches it and he expresses his gratitude with a bow.

Before us is the station. We climb the steps and enter the building. After consulting the schedule, Erik (my husband!) purchases two tickets to Paris with a layover in Le Mans. Then a trip to the telegraph office where he makes arrangements for our arrival in Paris the next day. Then we board our train. Erik takes the conductor aside and after another of his quiet conversations, the conductor leads us to a luxurious suite of compartments. At the door, Erik scoops me up into his arms and carries me over the threshold of our suite. We have our own private salon with dining table, a private bath and a small bedroom (with a bed!)

Erik places an order for our dinner and at last we are alone!

Suddenly, I feel overwhelmed by all of the recent events that have happened to me. I feel unsure of myself. This man is my husband. I know him better than any person I have ever known and yet we met not that many days ago. And then my eye catches sight of him and the uncertainty flies from me. The inferno of our ardor burns bright in both our eyes. His love for me fills my entire being. And I know my love for him is just as powerful. To live without this man, I simply exist. Nothing more. To live with this man, I am alive. I smile at him.

"What?" He inquires as he slowly walks to me. "Is there something I can do for my good lady wife?"

"My husband, you have done it already."

"And just what have I done?"

As I watch the movement of his body as he walks towards me, I feel suddenly almost faint with my desire for him. I blink and again I marvel at his quickness for he is now standing before me.

"You found me."

"Oh, ma chére cœur! Our first argument! I must beg to differ with you Madame! We found each other!"

"Sir, I will not argue this point on my wedding night. Especially since I will concede that might be a possibility. However, I do have a request of you."

"Yes. Go on."

He seems to be circling me, stalking me without moving. I burn for him!

"Husband, will you help me prepare for bed?"

My question catches him completely off-guard and it takes a moment for him to answer.

"It would be an honor to assist you, my beloved. It will also be our pleasure." A wicked smile spreads across his face.

"Our pleasure? My husband, you must show me this pleasure of which you speak." I return his smile.

His hand takes hold of my waist and he begins to draw me close.

The knock on the door makes both of us jump.

We laugh sheepishly.

"Dinner is served. I ordered Champagne. Will you have a glass with me, please?"

"Oh, Erik. Of course I will toast our marriage! I simply do not wish to become tipsy. I want to remember every moment of this night. Also, dearest I am not certain why, but I find that I do not have much of an appetite… for food. And yet, I hunger." I raise an eyebrow and smile wickedly.

Again, there is a knock at the door.

He returns the smile and sighs.

My husband answers the door and a steward wheels a cart into the salon. The man quickly and quietly sets up the meal. Erik tips him generously and closes the door behind him. He twists the lock on the door. I hear his voice within my mind, _"Now, my beloved wife, we are alone."_

Aloud, he says, "Now, where were we? Ah, yes. I believe you made a request of me."

I feel hypnotized by the slow cat-like movement of his body as he moves towards me. I lose myself in his eyes and my body entranced by his smile.

His hand reaches out to me. His hand closes around my waist. His hand pulls my body to his. His hand presses me so close to his body I can feel the wild beating of his heart through his clothing. His hand turns me around. His hand releases my waist. His hand moves from behind me. His hand reaches up to the ties of my cloak. His hand brushes my breast as he pulls the ties undone. His hand gently slides the cloak from my shoulders. His hand tosses my cloak onto a nearby chair. His hand grasps my blouse and pulls it free of my pants. His hand drops to my waist and unbuttons my pants. His hand releases its grip on my pants and they fall to the floor. His hand takes hold of my blouse and slowly removes it over my head. His hand drops my blouse to the floor. His hand slides down my leg and one at a time, pulls the boots and stockings from my feet.

A chill moves across my body causing goose bumps to sweep across my exposed skin and releases me from my trance.

I blink in surprise. I am clad only in my corset and panties.

"Why sir! I believe that one of us has way too many clothes on."

He grins.

"Would my wife care to assist me with my preparations for bed?"

"Yes, I would love to help you, but first, may we finish with my preparations?"

"I apologize, my beloved. You appear ready to me."

"Aren't you amusing? Before I can properly attend to you, we must remove this beastly corset. Then you can dress me. I have something in my bag you may enjoy. Please, would you undo this thing for me? I know you did it once before."

I am both surprised and pleased to see that he actually blushes at the memory.

"Well, I couldn't very well leave you in that now, could I? What sort of gentleman would that make me?"

"Sir, I am uncertain what type of gentleman undresses an unconscious woman, but I do know what kind of a man I want you to be!"

I turn so he may free me from the bonds of the corset. He fumbles only once, otherwise he acquits himself admirably. My corset falls to the floor. I stand before him clad only in my white cotton panties. I feel his eyes moving over my body. After gazing at him for a moment, I turn and walk to my saddle bag, which lies on a small table near the bed. Opening the bag, I rummage about for a moment and pull from it a nightie. I had purchased it at the same time as Trystin and Erik (unbeknownst to me) were purchasing my engagement ring. The baby doll nightie is made of smooth, black silk with a spaghetti halter strap rising from the center of the bandeau top. The bandeau is made of completely sheer black lace. There is a matching panty, but I don't think I'm going to use it tonight. I hook the nighties' halter strap through my finger and toss the nightie over my shoulder. I feel the heat of Erik's eyes grow as he continues to watch me and I pretend he isn't there. I move to the mirror, raise my arms above my head and pull the nightie on over my head. I let the nightie slowly slip down my body and as the bottom reaches my hips, I hear a sharp intake of breath as I wiggle my hips and shoulders to allow it to fall into place. Raising the hem of the nightie, I hook my thumbs inside the waist of my panties and in one swift movement slide them down to the floor. I step out of them and kick them aside. Erik's breathing is becoming louder now, harsher, but I still continue to act as if he is not there. I return my gaze to the mirror and remove the pins from my hair and shake it free. I brush my hair. Suddenly, he is behind me. I watch him in the mirror as he takes the brush from my hands and finishes brushing my hair. He tosses the brush onto the table and swiftly lifts me up into his arms. He carries me across the salon to the table and places me in a chair. He opens the champagne and pours us each a glass. He hands one to me.

"My dearest wife! Let us toast our marriage. À l'amour!"

He takes a seat in the arm chair next to me.

"À l'amour!" I return his toast as we clink our glasses. I take a sip of the golden liquid.

"Hmm! This is actually quite good. Thank you, dearest!"

We drink in comfortable silence, just looking at each other and smiling.

At last, I set my glass down, rise from my chair and go kneel on the floor before my husband. I place my hands on his thighs and run my hands up and down feeling the strength of them. I draw my hands over his knees and down to the tops of his boots. One at a time, I remove his boots. I lean onto his lap and lightly push him back in the chair with the top of my head.

He groans.

I slither up from the floor onto his lap. My hands slip inside his jacket and I run my hands up and over his shoulders and his jacket slides halfway down his back. His arms are pinned to his sides by the half-removed jacket. My hands open his shirt and they slip inside to massage and caress whatever they might encounter. I nuzzle my head up his chest and my mouth finds its way to his neck. I kiss and nip at each side of his neck.

"Christine!" His voice has become deep and husky with desire. I feel his desire straining for release, so I slide from his lap onto the floor.

My hands find their way to his trousers. I undo them. My hands caress Erik's bottom, encouraging him to lift up so I can work his trousers down and free of his body. His undergarment swiftly follows his trousers. I direct my immediate attention to his lap. I bend and take what I can of him into my mouth, the rest I hold in my clenched hands. My head rises and falls and my hands follow suit. Erik groans more and more loudly. His hips thrust up into the downward stroke of my mouth. His groans are now cries of pleasure. I feel his body tense. He thrusts hard and I relax my throat muscles, which allows him the deepest access. In response to this unexpected depth, his body finds its release. I greedily drink of him until there is no more. He whispers for me to stop. That he can take no more, but I find I cannot stop myself. And when I suckle him again, we fall into the abyss of mindless bliss together.

Eventually, we come back to ourselves. We are spooned tightly together. As I am sheltered within Erik's embrace, I am not as cold as Erik is. Sometime during our mindless bliss, we removed Erik's shirt and jacket as well as my nightie. We are two naked adults lying curled together on the floor.

Erik begins to kiss my neck, but stops. He picks me up and carries me next to the bed. He sets me down on my feet. He throws back the blankets, lifts me up and sets me onto the bed. He joins me on the bed. I reach down and pull up the blankets.

My mind is whirling with joy and desire for him. He laughs and pulls me to him. He rains kisses on my face, neck, shoulders, breasts and then returns to find my lips. Our open mouths explore, as do our hands. When his hand slides between my legs, I part them for him. His fingers explore me. His talented fingers discover the little nub, which he begins to massage with gentle circles. He massages me there occasionally slipping a finger inside me. I am the one groaning now. As his fingers quicken their pace so do my groans. Then my groans become soft cries of pleasure. My hips rise and fall as I meet his thrusts. And then, suddenly, I cry out as I fall over the edge into my pleasure. My back arches. When he slides two fingers inside, I scream his name as the force of my orgasm takes me. My legs clamp down around Erik's hand trapping him there. My body pulses and throbs as multiple waves of pleasure take me and leave me gasping for air.

When at last I catch my breath, I see the hard proof that my husband is ready to consummate our marriage. We kiss and fondle one another until we can take no more. My husband rolls atop me and as he enters me, we become truly one.


	48. Layover

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Forty-Eight – Layover**

I awake to darkness and find I am alone. My hands do not find Erik in the small bed. I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes. And there he is. He stands naked at the window looking out into the night.

"Erik? Dearest?"

"Yes, my beloved."

"Why are you at the window?"

"I awoke and did not wish to disturb you, so I came here to think."

"And what do you think about, my husband?"

"I think about consequences."

"Consequences? Consequences of what?"

"Our love, ma chére cœur."

"You make our love seem ominous."

"No, but there may be a consequence and I am unsure of my ability to handle it."

"What consequence concerns you?"

"We have loved one another freely, without restraint."

"Yes. Is there any other way to love?"

I feel his soft smile in my mind even though I cannot see it with my eyes.

"Beloved, you are young again. What if we have made a child?"

"And this troubles you. Why?"

"I do not wish to share you."

"Erik, I do not wish to share you either."

"No?"

"No. My world has precautions and I use one of them. We have not made a child with our love. I have loved you for the pure joy of it as I always will."

"Christine?"

"Yes, Erik?"

"Am I wrong to not want a child?"

"No."

"You do not think me selfish?"

"No more selfish than I."

He turns away from the window and returns to the bed. He sits down on the edge and takes my hand in his.

"I do not believe you to be selfish. You are the most giving person I have ever met. You are kind to everyone even those who are cruel to you. I watched you take away Christine's pain. You took it onto yourself. You felt it. You did this for her even though she acted as if she hated you. And I know that what you did for Christine is not the first time."

"Stop! I am no saint. I do what I must."

We sit quietly.


	49. The Le Mans Standstill

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Forty-Nine – The Le Mans Standstill**

"Husband?"

"Yes, my wife?"

"Will you give yourself to me?"

"Yes."

"Then come, lie with me."

And he does.

Our lovemaking is gentle and slow. The wildness turned to tenderness and yet the culmination of our love is the most intense of the night.

As we lay in the afterglow, I realize the train has stopped.

"Erik, are we in Le Mans?"

"Yes. For some time now."

"I don't understand."

"For our honeymoon, I hired this Pullman car. When the train arrived at Le Mans, they uncoupled this car. In the morning, our car joins with the 10:00 a.m. train to Paris and we shall arrive in grand style. In the world of the theater, one's entrance is of paramount importance. Our arrival will be in the gossip columns the day after our arrival. We have an appointment with M. Delibes and company in the afternoon. That night we have box tickets for the opera. We will give the gossip columnists something to write about when we are at the opera as well."

"I have made arrangements for us to stay at the le Grand Hôtel. It is at 3, Place de l'Opéra. The hotel has an exclusive Club Level and Lounge overlooking the rooftop of the opera house. I used to watch the hotel guests from the roof of the opera house. Anyway, we have The Blue and Gold Suite and The Red and Gold Suite for a month. That address alone will most likely convince the opera management of our financial viability to produce an opera without a patron."

Watching his face, I marvel that anyone could have believed him a monster. He is so full of life. And even though he is so serious right now, I know he is also full of fun. My beautiful, serious man-child! So full of love and life.

"Christine?"

"Yes, dearest?"

"Were you listening? Or did I put you to sleep?"

"No, I was listening. You lost me at the producing an opera without a patron part. I became lost because I started looking at you. And, well." I sigh contentedly. "I've always thought you to be the most beautiful man I have ever seen."

"Always?" I hear the doubt in his voice.

My eyes look deep into his. I wish the sadness I see there could be healed with a kiss, but I doubt even my abilities could touch the depth of his pain. I do the best I can with my love.

"My dearest, you know I speak the truth. I have always thought that of you and much more. As to your plans, I leave myself completely within your capable hands."

I continue, "Erik, we are married. I made a sacred promise to you. This is the first time I ever married in the church. My other marriages were civil ceremonies, unblessed by the church. Erik, I married you in the sight of God. I would not have done that if I had any doubts of my love for you or of your love for me. This haunted face I see before me never held any horror for me. Never. And it never will."

"Christine, please forgive me! My mind battles my heart. My heart knows your love is true. My mind tortures me with doubt. I torture myself that you will tire of me. That you will tire of my constant need for reassurance. And yet, I cannot stop myself."

"There is nothing to forgive. I will never tire of you, dearest. I understand your need. I know why it is there. And yet, I too am human. Sometimes your doubt wounds my heart, but whenever the hurt becomes too great, I take solace in the light of our soul. There is no doubt there and I pray someday you will find solace there as well."

"You are my angel of love!"

He places his hand on my cheek and I snuggle against it. His hand brushes my cheek, then moves across my neck, around my shoulder and comes to rest on my breast. I open my arms to him and still holding my breast in his hand, he lays his head on the center of my chest. I run my fingers through his ebony hair and caress his cheek for a time. My hand comes to rest cradling the back of his head to my chest and I slip into sleep.


	50. The Dream Descendent

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Fifty – The Dream Descendent**

I dream.

There is a boy and girl playing tag in a meadow. First, the girl chases the boy. She is quick and agile. Her long dark brown hair is unfetter and flies free behind her as she darts about the meadow on her quest to catch the boy. At last she corners him at the edge of the meadow and tags him. The two fall to the ground laughing. They embrace as only sweet innocents can. Suddenly, the girl kisses the boy on the cheek. She jumps to her feet and begins to run from the boy. The boy, stunned by the kiss, remains lying in the grass. And it is at that moment, the boy becomes a young man. He rises from the grass and his pursuit of the girl begins. To the girl, their game of moments before remains the same. To the boy, his pursuit of the girl is a game no more. The longer he pursues the girl, the stronger his desire for her becomes. When at last he corners her, she turns to him to admit defeat and sees her beloved friend no more. She sees a man. The boy-man takes the girl by the wrist and throws her to the ground. The girl lands hard on the ground. As she lands, her skirts fly up revealing her creamy thighs which further enflame the youth's passion. He follows her to the ground and begins to take what he desires of the girl. She whimpers in fear of her friend. He strokes her hair, kisses her neck and grinds his hips into hers. Her closed eyes open to gaze upon the face of her attacker. She begins to scream. The familiar face torn into two. On the right, the beautiful face of her friend. On the left, the twisted face of a stranger. The girl faints. The boy takes no notice and continues to ravage the limp body of the girl. He takes her unconscious body there in the field and her first blood falls onto the ground. His passion spent. The boy-man sees what he has done and is horrified. He sits on the ground next to his playmate covering his face with his hands. He begins to cry. Violent sobs rack his body. The noise of his grief awakens the girl. Her eyes open to the sight of her heartbroken friend crying. Her first and only thought is to console him. She sits and pulls the weeping boy-man into a comforting embrace. She soothes him with gentle words, patting his back and stroking his hair. When at last the sobs subside, the boy lowers his hands from his face and he looks up at the girl. At the sight of her friend's ruined face, she does not scream or avert her eyes in horror. She reaches out her hands and cups them to his face. The girl leans to the right and kisses the cheek of her friend. Then the girl-woman leans to the left and kisses the cheek of the stranger. The two sit on the ground, knee to knee, forehead to forehead, arms wrapped about each other.

"What have I done?"

The words echo through my mind as I awake.


	51. The Wedding Gift

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One 

* * *

****Chapter Fifty-One – The Wedding Gift**

I do not know where this dream came from, nor do I know what it means. It has however, made me realize something about the love I have shared with Erik. An incompleteness in what I had thought was the complete joining of our souls. Erik has shared all with me. He laid the story of his entire life before me. He hid nothing. He gave me all of his memories and let me feel everything he has. I have given Erik everything and yet I now realize I let him know nothing of my feelings. He saw, but could not know my joys or sorrow. I had (I'm not sure, but I think it was simply my unconscious effort to protect him) shut him out. I close my eyes and breathe. Just breathe. I am frightened at the thought of unlocking that door in my mind, but I must.

Erik's head still lies cradled on my chest. I begin to caress his ear running my forefinger up, down, in, out and around. I know this excites him and soon I feel the first stirring of his return to wakefulness. I run my fingers up and down his neck and then move to his back. I massage his shoulders and he growls with pleasure. His mouth takes my nipple into his mouth and he begins to run his tongue around the tip. His hands caress me. Silently, we fondle and caress one another until our bodies become taut with desire. He turns his body to face mine, his arousal bouncing against my thigh. I sigh and reach done to guide him into me. He plunges into me with a suddenness that draws a gasp from me. His hips bump my pelvis and he breathes words of love into my ear. Our excitement grows and we draw close to the moment of our release. I hang back at the moment just before climax and whisper into Erik's mind.

"_This is my wedding gift to you, my dearest husband. I give myself to you completely with no barriers, no lies, no hidden truths. This is who I am and how I feel and think. I promise for the rest of my life to love you. I will never tire of you or want another. There can be no other for me. I see only you. I love only you. Erik, this is last bit of me that remains unshared. Do you wish me to give it to you?"_

I can feel his surprise, but his answer is certain and swift.

"_Yes!"_

"_Erik, here I am."_

I open the hidden door in my mind. And as I slide over the edge and my body plunges into my blazing release, I share all of my life and along with all of my feelings with Erik for the first time. I allow Erik to see all of me. To feel everything I have felt. To know me by completely opening to him. I give him all, even my fear that he may not want what I give him. I give and share until there is nothing left.

"_Erik, this is all that I am and I am yours to do with as you will."_

And as I bare the last bit of me, my eyes open to see Erik's face above mine. Words become unnecessary. He knows and loves me anyway. Just as I know and love him.

His body is still hard and still inside me. His eyes twinkle as he resumes his thrust in and then out of me. From the very first our lovemaking has been exquisite in its intensity. Now, with no barriers between us we feel the excitement and pleasure of both our bodies. I feel all of my love for Erik and he feels all of my love for him. Erik experiences our lovemaking as himself and at the same time, as me. Our sharing complete. There is no doubt, no fear. No insecurities survive this joining. This joining an absolute.

For the first time we come as one. Two bodies, one orgasm.

We lie there our bodies entwined and minds joined.

In our mind, I dance for the pure joy of it. He knows ME and still he loves ME! I didn't horrify him. He loves me.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and he is there. So, handsome and graceful.

"May I join with you in this dance, my beloved wife? We have much to celebrate. For at last, I know you and know you know me. AND, you still love ME!"

He leads me in our dance. We laugh for no reason and the sound of our laughter is a cosmic duet of viola and French horn.

We dance through a nighttime sky of our own creation. We laugh and cry. We brush our insecurities from one another and they fall away to become shooting stars. We watch them as they jet across the sky burning away into nothingness.

I am Christine still and yet he is here with me. His presence is constant and comforting. I feel protected, safe and loved. We still own our thoughts and feelings. We are after all, two beings. There is no judgment here. There is no need to hide.

My dearest husband sings to me.

"_I have brought you,  
to the seat of sweet music's throne.  
To this kingdom where all must,  
pay homage to music.  
Music, you have come here,  
for one purpose and one alone.  
Since the moment,  
I first heard you sing,  
I have needed you with me,  
to serve me, to sing,  
for my music,  
my music._

_Nighttime sharpens,  
heightens each sensation.  
Darkness stirs,  
and wakes imagination.  
Silently the senses,  
Abandon their defenses.  
Slowly, gently,  
Night unfurls its splendor.  
Grasp it, sense it,  
Tremulous and tender.  
Turn your face away,  
from the garish light of day.  
Turn your thoughts away,  
from cold, unfeeling light.  
And listen to,  
the music of the night._

_Close your eyes and surrender,  
to your darkest dreams.  
Purge your thoughts of the life,  
you knew before.  
Close your eyes  
let your spirit start,  
to soar.  
And you'll live,  
as you've never lived before._

_Softly, deftly,  
music shall caress you.  
Hear it, feel it,  
secretly possess you.  
Open up your mind,  
let your fantasies unwind,  
in this darkness that you know,  
you cannot fight,  
the darkness of,  
the music of the night._

_Let your mind start a journey,  
through a strange new world.  
Leave all thoughts of the life,  
you knew before.  
Let your soul take you,  
where you long to be.  
Only then can you belong,  
to me._

_Floating, falling,  
Sweet intoxication.  
Touch me, trust me,  
Savor each sensation.  
Let the dream begin,  
Let your darker side give in,  
to the power of the music that I write.  
The power of,  
the music of the night._

_You alone can make my song take flight.  
Help me make,  
the music of the,  
Night."_

Erik's voice is the most beautiful and powerfully erotic instrument I have ever heard in my life. As he sings to me, I fall in love with him all over again.

A lurch interrupts our dance of lovemaking as our car couples with the Paris train. We open our eyes and find it is day.

"We must, unfortunately, leave our bed and prepare for our arrival in Paris. I hope that our wedding night was all you hoped it would be. I know I could never have imagined a better one, my beloved wife."

"It was all I hoped for and more, my dearest husband. Much more."

We smile into one another's eyes. He lifts my hand to his lips and places a kiss upon the back of it.

"God, Erik! I love you! I want you!"

I throw myself on him and passionately kiss his lips. He returns my kiss, but I feel the end of the night in his kiss.


	52. Ready? Surprise!

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Fifty-Two – Ready? Surprise!**

I sigh.

"There will be many more nights, Christine."

"Yes, indeed, but never another wedding night. The night is morning all too soon."

"I beg to differ. We will have another wedding night on December 25th."

He snuggles into me and we are both tempted to forget all of our other concerns and become lost within the bliss of our love. Only a single thought stops us. The happiness of Christine and Etienne. We have so much and I am thankful for all of it. They deserve their time of bliss as well.

Erik puts my thoughts, our thoughts, into words.

"The sooner we attend to their happiness, the sooner all of us may attend to our own happily ever after. Besides, I need to be decent enough to answer the door. I am expecting a delivery here before we depart for Paris."

"A delivery? Here? What is it?"

I look up at him and see a mischievous grin.

"Oh! A surprise? For me? Oh goody!" I clap my hands and give him my best little girl impression.

"We need to save this act for later as it has definite possibilities."

"Hmm … my husband, you wait for us to be married before you tell me of your fetishes."

His fingers lightly play up my sides.

"Erik! You had better stop. That feels so sexy. I will lose control of myself and I won't let you get dressed for the delivery."

No sooner do the words leave my mouth than the sound of knocking comes from the salon.

"Saved by the knock. Better hurry, dearest."

I laugh as he leaps from the bed and grabs his shirt and trousers from the floor. The former opera ghost hops out of the room on one foot as he slips into his trousers. I hear the sound of murmuring male voices and a door closing. I snuggle deeper under the covers and await my surprise.

The silence coming from the next room is unexpected.

"Erik? You want some help?"

"No, thank you. Stay right where you are. And no peeking!"

"Nope. Wouldn't do that. I like surprises. First, the wedding. Now, this. This is nice! Better watch out, Erik I could get used to being spoiled by you."

"Precisely what I intend, beloved."

He enters the room his arms heavily laden with boxes, parcels and packages ranging from large to quite small. He expertly balances the ever-shifting mound and stops at the foot of the bed. He deposits the load on the bed then with his astonishing agility and speed, jumps over the mound. He lands softly on the bed next to me. His eyes shining with pleasure.

"You look like the cat that swallowed the canary."

"Well, in all actuality, I do feel rather pleased with myself. You had no idea I was up to any of this, did you?"

"No, I didn't. I may have access." I tap a finger to my forehead. "But, I never, ever peek! Unless, of course, I'm invited."

His smile grows wider.

"Shall we begin?"

"Maestro, I am yours to command."

"We shall save that for another time as well. We shall begin with the largest and work our way down. Please sit up, ma chére cœur. Start with this one."

He sets the smaller items to the side and slides a large rectangular box to me. I clear my throat and lift the lid. Tossing the lid to the floor, I see layers of tissue paper inside the box. I turn to Erik.

"Thank you."

"You don't know what it is yet."

"That's not what I'm thanking you for."

He lifts an eyebrow; his eyes sparkle crystal blue-green. "May I inquire why you are thanking me?"

"I am thanking you for you."

His mouth works for a moment as his mind runs through possible responses. At last he decides.

"You are most welcome."

"Good answer."

"I endeavor to please. Now, enough stalling. Lift the tissue."

My hand does his bidding and reveals a sea of gleaming teal cloth. I touch it. The material is buttery soft and smooth. Removing it from the box and shaking it, the folds leave no creases. I hold it up and see a hood.

"A cloak! It's beautiful! And so light. How elegant. What is this material?"

"It is transparent velvet."

"I've never heard of that."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes."

I twirl it above my head and bring it down about my shoulders.

"Nice. Fitted shoulders." I let out an inadvertent snort.

"And this noise means?"

"Since I don't believe you had time to have this tailor-made for me, this must have been a man's cloak or at the very least a young man's. My shoulders are broader than most women's."

My voice trails away as our eyes meet. I see teasing there.

"Well, beloved, it was a woman's cloak. You're much too short for a man's cloak. I chose this cloak because it had shoulder pads and I had them removed so it would fit you. I had to have this one. It almost matches your eyes. Of course, your eyes are more beautiful by far."

"Flattery, sir, will get you everywhere!"

"A threat or a promise, Madame?"

"Promise … as if you didn't know."

The room lurches and the low rumbling and rattle of the wheels slowly begin to build.

"Paris, here we come!" I murmur.

"You sound ambivalent."

"Well, this trip isn't simply to celebrate our marriage. We go to scheme and wreak vengeance upon a sadistic rapist. Then, on the other hand, we go to free Christine from this beast and allow her a chance at a happily ever after. I would say ambivalent covers it just about fine. I also worry about you being a visible presence in Paris. I worry that Raoul could have you arrested or worse. The thought of something happening to you is more than I can bear. We risk much in attempting this. And we gain nothing. Trystin and I are no longer at risk. Yet, how can I blithely go on with my life happy and content in the rapture of your love when I know that Christine suffers? Simple. I cannot. So, on to Paris."

He takes me into his arms. Safely secure within the warm cocoon of his arms, my fears seem silly. Yet, having lost a child, I know that the world is bursting with horrible things happening to unsuspecting decent people. I return his embrace.

"We do what we have to and then go on, yes?"

I nod still within his embrace. He places a kiss on the top of my head, and then releases me.

"Please, ma chére cœur, no sorrow now! I have gifts for my lovely wife."

"Yes, you do."

"Yes, I do! This one is next."

He chooses a medium size box and places it before me.

"Does is bark?"

"No, but it did make a mooing noise prior to its demise."

"A box of beef jerky? You know I'm a vegetarian!" I respond with mock horror.

"Christine, please?"

I open the box and find a pair of dark teal boots. The boots pull onto my foot and end mid-calf. They have a suede upper with a shearling lamb shaft topped with a tassel drawstring. I notice cunningly crafted pockets at the place where the suede and shearling meet on both the outer and inner sides of the boots. Pockets perfect for my knives. The soles of the boots are suede making the boots light and flexible, perfect for walking, running or climbing in stealthy silence.

"You are a sneak! Erik, how long have you been planning this?"

"Since the day I first returned to France. I made the first arrangements for our wedding and these gifts when I was with Christine in Paris. I sent a telegram to arrange a carriage for us from Rennes to Château de Montmuran, but it also contained instructions to the cab driver, Bruno. He is the person who helped me obtain information about my family. He arranged for these. I told my father of my intention to marry you the night before last. He heartily approved. It seems I was not the only one worried about consequences. As a wedding gift, my father paid for these." Erik's arm sweeps across the bed indicating the packages.

"So, you did have the cloak custom-tailored for me."

"Yes, my beloved wife. I did."

He raises a restraining hand to me.

"Christine, the sooner you finish opening these, the sooner we can clear off the bed, yes?"

"Of course, Erik."

He chooses another large box that contains an opera dolman with jet and silk chenille; another box contains a pair of black velvet opera boots with Louis heels; another has a pair of beautiful red and gold Turkish ball mule pumps; another, a pink silk faille opera gown with pearled lace and metallic brocade inserts.

"Erik, this dress looks as if it were made by Worth."

"You are correct. How did you know?"

"I collect vintage clothing, remember? I recognize the strong shell architecture of the dress and the high quality of the fabric. Although there is no tag, this has to be a one of a kind dress. It is simply exquisite. Thank you!"

Another box has a one piece embroidered bustle presentation gown with a pair of fancy silk brocade and kid lace-up gloves; another has a pink silk and lace reception gown with silk bows and a natural form bustle (this dress is very sexy for the 1880's and most likely never meant for a married woman to wear, but a young unmarried woman); another, a spoon bonnet of woven shiny horsehair with netting, silver and black silk taffeta, ivory silk velvet bows and trimmed with a huge silver silk-satin chrysanthemum; another, a ball gown of silk satin and taffeta brocade in a pale celadon green with tiny pink and green brocaded flowers with pink iridescent taffeta stripes interspersed between the brocade flowers. The gown has a scround neckline and will show off quite a bit of décolleté; there are night gowns, undergarments, hose, walking boots, capes, shawls, purses, hats, gloves, fans, veils, hat pins, hair jewelry, pin broaches, cameos, necklaces, bracelets, anklets, rings and earrings.

Overwhelmed, I look at the amazing collection spread before me.

"Dearest, I … I … Oh my!"

I fling myself into his arms and burst into tears.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I can't believe you did this! And you did it for me!"

Releasing him, I raise my head to look into his eyes. Our eyes meet and he blushes. He scoots away from me and stops me from chasing him with a motion of his hands.

"Wait. I have just one more."

He holds his hands flat with his palms facing down in the space between us. His two forefingers press together and his thumbs tuck under his palms. He slowly turns his hands over and a flat square purple velvet box appears seemingly from thin air.

"That was … well, all I can say is that whatever is in that box had … I take it back. I don't think there is anything that can top that. I've never seen anything like that before. Well, I've seen David Blane on television and you two would really get along very well. Okay, you can stop me any time now … I'm babbling."

He grins.

"This is my wedding gift to you. The rest is just the necessary trappings to fit in at the opera house, so I don't consider those real presents. Although, I'm sure to enjoy seeing you in them. I wanted my gift to you to be special, so I designed it myself. Here."

He places the box on the bed before me and I pick it up. The hinge lid is tight and the velvet slippery so I fumble for a moment. Then I get a firm grip and open the box. The box lined with ivory satin is a 5-piece presentation box. The outer ring of the box has a necklace; the middle ring, an anklet; the inner ring, a bracelet; and sitting side-by-side in the center of the box a pair of drop earrings.

I sit in stunned silence for a long time.

"This is considered a parure, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"You designed this for me? Erik…." I begin, then stop, then begin again, "Erik, this is magnificent! Do you really think I can wear this? That your t-shirt and blue jean girl can pull off wearing this? I am in complete awe! Wait! You DO think that! Don't you! Love blinds you! Thank God for that! And thank you, my love! They are truly works of art."

"Would you like me to tell you about them?"

"Yes, I would. I don't know these stones."

"Oh, that's citrine. Anyway, I was thinking about you, no surprise there. And I'm not certain why, but I remembered the first time I saw you handle your swords. It gave me this image of you as a gothic warrior queen, so I used that theme as my inspiration. The necklace, anklet and bracelet have a pattern of alternating volutes and flowers. See? The little gold seashells are volutes. The volutes dangle from a side-mounted, oval cut citrine. I favor pale yellow citrine. The stones in the flowers are emeralds. With emeralds, I feel the darker, the better. I prefer them to have the bluish cast that those do. For the necklace's drape, I placed a hanging flower between two tear-drops. All of the stones in the drape are diamonds. The earrings are also diamonds. All of the gold is 18k yellow gold, so you must take care as it is softer than 10k or 14k. I prefer the darkness of the 18k gold. Now, it's my turn to babble."

"It is stunning. And the workmanship is superb. I can't believe all of the detail in those shells … volutes. Thank you, Erik. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever even hope to receive such a wonderful wedding present nor did I dream I would ever marry a man so perfect for me."

"May I?"

I nod. He removes the necklace from the box and places around my throat. He slides the clasp closed. I turn to him.

"Now, that is truly a stunning sight."

I glance down to see if I can catch sight of the necklace, then stop. I look at Erik and see he isn't looking at the necklace. He is looking at me sitting naked on the bed with my wedding gift around my neck.

"No more than the sight I'm seeing."

"I hate to be the one ruining the mood, but we most likely have half an hour before the train arrives in Paris. We need to wash, dress and pack."

"Oh dear!"

"What is it?"

"Where am I going to pack all of this?"

"In the trunks."

"I see. They delivered steamer trunks along with the rest. You really are very sneaky. I had no idea."

He chuckles.

The next half hour is a blur of preparation for our grand arrival.

* * *

**FYI: THE CLOTHING AND JEWELRY DESCRIBED EXIST, AS DOES LE GRAND HOTEL. AND, YES, YOU CAN ACTUALLY WATCH THE GUESTS OF THE PRIVATE CLUB FROM THE ROOF OF THE OPERA HOUSE. LASTLY, THE JOINING OF TWO SOULS (HYPOTHETICALLY SPEAKING) CAUSES THE TRANSFER OF INNATE ABILITIES--NOT THE TRANSFER OF _LEARNED_ ABILITIES OR KNOWLEDGE, HENCE ERIK'S INABILITY TO COPE WITH HIS NEWLY TRANSFERRED EMPATHY.****

* * *

**


	53. Reflections of a Man

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Fifty-Three – Reflections of a Man**

I am a married man.

Me.

I walk among the living in the daylight. No one notices.

Women and children smile and nod as I walk along the street. No one screams.

Men treat me as an equal. I am not a monster.

While at one time those things were important to me, the one thing I craved most of all was the love of a woman. To touch and be touched. To be a man.

Christine en Deux.

Christine in Twos.

The first time I heard her sing, I had hoped she was the one who would be my salvation but upon meeting the child knew she was not the one. She accepted me as her angel of music, her tutor, her confidant and finally, her friend. I attempted to be a guardian to her. Her savior. I failed her.

And I was alone once more. Existing, but never alive. A part of the human race, but forever apart from the human race. I sat in my home, a place most others named, a lair, (as if I were more animal and less a man) alone. Waiting for darkness to take me. Waiting for oblivion.

I seldom slept for fear of the dreams. Dreams of Christine. The two of them that haunted my nights. One, the torture of my failure. One, a glimpse of a life unlived.

One night, or day, when I no longer kept track of such things and I could no longer hold open my eyes, I slept. The nightmare of failure came to me again. I dreamt of the gala performance of _"Don Juan Triumphant."_ The secret plans, the hopes, the fears and then the disastrous results. A good and decent man murdered. Christine's escape foiled and my life purchased at the cost of her freedom.

And then, something new. The dream changes. Instead of following its usual course with me awaking to the loneliness and solitude of my world, I find my eyes open on a seemingly eternal night. I almost believe that God is at long last granting my prayer and sending me sweet oblivion, since he cannot send me eternal love. The darkness of my dream blinks and another dream begins.

At first, it seems to be the old dream. Christine makes her choice and saves my life. An innocent 16 year old girl sacrifices her life for me. Me! _A monster!_ Monsieur le Vicomte releases me from my bonds and I flounder for a moment after dropping into the lake at the edge of my home. By the time regain my footing, the Vicomte points a small pistol at Christine and says that if I wish to take advantage of his goodwill, he will simply find himself another bride. Unwilling to chance Christine's life on the sincerity of the Vicomte's casually spoken threat, I turn from them. My shame burns me blind. I cannot look into the eyes of the girl I have failed. And it is here the dream always ends. I was abandoning her! Again! And yet, no! The dream continues. My legs somehow find their stumbling way to my bedroom. Unwilling and unable to take any more chances with the girl's life, I sit on the edge of my bed and listen to my music box. I sing.

"_Masquerade!  
Paper faces on parade.  
Masquerade!  
Hide your face,  
so the world will never find you."_

And then, at the entrance of my room I sense a presence and turn my head towards it. Christine Daae walks towards me. Her head held high. She walks towards me with something in her outstretched hand. The courage and innocence in her eyes breaks my heart. I sing to her.

"_Christine, I love you!"_

Our eyes meet and she leads my gaze to her hand. In her outstretched hand she holds something. I lean forward straining to see what she holds. A tiny twinkling of light suddenly bursts into a maelstrom of blizzard fire before my stunned eyes. My world consumed in a explosion of roaring thunder. My world blinks out and another blinks in. I find myself sitting in a room the likes of which I have never imagined. My last words to Christine echo in my ears and in my mind.

"_Christine, I love you."_

I blink. Then close my eyes and leave them closed.

_This is wrong!_

No! No! A long buried part of my soul emerges from the shadows to correct me.

_This is right!_

I am not alone.

There is another here with me. I feel her presence before I see her. A stranger and yet, not. I open my eyes and find myself still in that strange room. Sitting before me is a woman. Not the child of a moment before, but a woman. I sit rooted in place, the room forgotten. This woman draws me as no other I have met before. Our eyes meet. This woman of the amazing eyes. Eyes of green-hazel with rings of golden-brown. I cannot breathe! Those eyes look at me, they look within me. They pierce through my defenses and skewer my soul with their beautiful intensity. And yet, in those eyes I see longing, loneliness and a deep sadness. Her eyes as calm as her posture. As if my arrival here is the most normal of all occurrences. It is only my quickness of movement that finally startles her. My springing leap to my feet was the cause of her fall when she attempted to do the same. I remember thinking her clumsy for falling, but was also pleased that she made no attempt at fleeing from me or screaming for help.

Then, she looks and smiles at me. That is the end of me. I am lost. I am lost to the certainty that here was the one. Somehow, the fates had conspired and brought me face-to-face with my true love. And my heart broke in that moment. She was so lovely. She could not possibly ever return my love. All I had to do was remove my mask and the gently smiling face would transform into an unrecognizable mask of horror.

She continues to smile with her mouth and with her eyes as she speaks to me. Her voice is soft, kind and melodic. She holds out her hand to me. I look down at my own hand to discover it already extended to her. She is accepting my offer. Mine! The sight and sound of her stir me. My pulse pounds in my ears. I discover my body stiff and ready. No! I yearn to know her. Knowledge always denied me. God! Why was I born? I do not flinch from her outstretched hand. I hide the power of my desire for her. I am, after all, a superb actor. And yet, the simple act of taking her hand in mind nearly pushes me past the point of no return. Just the momentary pressure of my skin on her skin and my body nearly erupts. I cannot meet her eyes, although she seems to wish it. I become aware that my face is wet with tears and wipe them away with the back of my hand. She speaks. I can hear her first words. The others are not as clear. For as I wipe my tears, I realize to my horror that my mask is missing. And yet, this woman sits serenely across from me and treats me the same as other men! We sit facing one another. She knows my naked face, has only seen me unmasked. She sits there, unknowing of my shock. She accepts me unmasked without fear or loathing. I feel more than acceptance from her. When I look at her, I feel her desire. I feel her desire for me! When she looks at me, I feel normal for the first time in my 36 years of life. When she looks at me, I am a man.

My mind is awhirl with racing thoughts. A lifetime of rejection wreaks havoc with my senses. Surely, I am mistaken. Surely, the desire I feel radiating from her eyes is of my own creation. From my own misguided need for love. Or is it? Has she ever shown any sign of horror at my presence? I think back over the brief time I have been in this woman's presence. I replay every moment from the first to present and realize she has never shown one moments fear or revulsion. Never! Not one! I cannot however, answer my question about her desire. I cannot answer this question. I am unequal to the challenge of answering that. And I let it lie.

I revel in this meeting. This person is the single exception to the cruelty and loneliness of my life. The first person I have ever met whom never had to become accustomed to my face. She accepts me, no reservations, no backward glances, just as I am. Without my mask! And what makes this truly miraculous is this person granting me acceptance is a woman. A woman I find extremely desirable. And yet, I do not wish to continue to tempt the fates by continuing to flaunt my face before her.

I try to turn the ruined side of my face away from her and use my hand as a makeshift mask, but she will have none of it. She is concerned for my comfort and tells me this. She is concerned for me!

She seemed to want to make eye contact with me. I gather my wits, will power and nerves together. I meet her gaze. She welcomed me into her home and into her life. Soon after, she welcomed me into her bed. And lastly, I had to admit to myself, what I had known from the moment we met. We were in each other's hearts.

The rest, as they say, is history.

I will say this about my Christine. Never has there been a woman more intelligent, witty, strong, compassionate, beautiful, sarcastic, funny, dangerous, passionate, brilliant, opinionated, miraculous or irritating than she. She has absolutely no idea how special she is. She is completely and utterly without conceit and completely guileless. I shall stop now waxing lyrical or rhapsodic over her praises before I risk her removing these words when next she adds to this account.

This is for you, ma chére cœur, my beloved, my wife.

I love you, now and always.

I set down my perspective of our first meeting now because I was much too preoccupied with Christine's fading when last I was the one recording this journal of our soul. Through luck and love, I believe the continued existence of my ladies assured. If I am incorrect, we definitely share the will, so that and our love will find the way. We shall not part from one another again. Our soul shall remain as one.

I am a married man.

I walk among men as one of them.

I return to Paris and the opera house today.

I shall help my friend be free.

I shall not do this alone. I am now us. We. Master and Missus. Husband and wife. Erik and Christine.

The mad rush to ready ourselves for our arrival complete.

We are ready.

God help him! God have mercy on the soul of Monsieur le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny! For I certainly will not. Nor, will any of the other conspirators.

We sit on the edge of the bed and mentally rehearse one last time the movements of our train station grand entrance. Our luggage is in the salon ready for the porter. We hold one another and playfully engage in slow easy kisses. Not wanting to become too aroused for our arrival, we move to the salon.

"Erik, will you sing for me?"

"Of course, what do you wish to hear?"

"_Nessun Dorma_, an aria from the opera, _Turandot_ by Giacomo Puccini. Ahh… nuts! No, not you! I'm sorry, dearest! I was thinking out loud. _Turandot_ published in the 1920's. Puccini died in November 1924 of throat cancer, leaving, _"Turandot,"_ his final opera, unfinished. Oh well, never mind. I'll think of something else."

"Do you know this song well?"

"Oh yes! Most people favor Luciano Pavarotti's rendition of it, but I prefer José Carreras."

"Can you hear the song in your mind?" I ask hopefully.

"Of course!" She gives me a slightly wounded look.

"Can I listen with you and then, perhaps, I can sing it for you."

"Yes, Maestro. You may."

My words kiss her wounded look away.

"Tell me when, ma chére cœur."

She closes her eyes, "When."

I listen and I hear a rich tenor voice singing within my wife's mind. I should have known better than to question her ability to "hear" the music.

**Italian Lyrics  
**Il Principe: _  
Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma!  
Tu pure, O Principessa  
nella tua fredda stanza  
guardi le stelle che tremano  
d'amore e di speranza!  
Ma il mio mistero  
è chiuso in me  
il nome mio nessun saprà!  
No, no, sulla tua bocca lo dirò  
quando la luce splenderà!  
Ed il mio bacio scoglierà il silenzio  
che ti fa mia!  
_Coro Donn: _  
Il nome suo nessun saprà  
E noi dovrem ahimè, morir, morir!  
_Il Principe: _  
Dilegua, O notte! Tramontate, stelle!  
Tramontate, stelle! All'alba vincerò!  
Vincerò! Vincerò!_

**English Translation**_  
_The Prince: _  
No one sleeps! No one sleeps!  
Nor do you, O princess  
in your cold room  
Look the stars that tremble  
with love and hope!  
But my mystery  
it is locked in me  
my name no one will know!  
No, no, only on your mouth I will reveal it  
when dawn's light will shine!  
My kiss will break the silence  
and make you mine!  
_Female Choir: _  
His name no one will know  
And we shall have, alas, to die, to die!  
_The Prince: _  
Disperse, O night! Set you, stars!  
Set you, stars! With the dawn I will win!  
I will win! I will win!_

As the piece ends, I nod.

"Yes. I can hear it also. It puts me in mind of something. A moment, beloved."

I think I would like to know this Puccini. The words of the song remind me of a story from a book, _"__Les Mille et un Jours_" a French translation by Francois Petis de la Croix. His book was a translation into French of a collection of Persian stories originally entitled, _"Hezar O-Yek Shab."_ The story of Turandokht is the one that comes into my mind. Then my mind makes the connection. Turandokht – Turandot.

"Of course, how foolish of me! Would you like to sing the female choral?"

"I would be deeply honored, Maestro." She dips an abbreviated curtsy to me.

My mouth opens and the words flow off my tongue. The music takes me into another world, as all fine art should.

I am the Nameless Prince. I sing Princess Turandot's edict. Her proclamation commands that no one sleep; no one sleep! I desperately love this cruel, cold princess. I won the contest of three riddles. I won her hand in marriage, but I need her to desire me. She must love me in return. She must want to marry me as much as I want to marry her. So, I add a condition of my own to our arrangement. She must guess my name before dawn. If she does not, I will die at the dawn.

I pour all the loneliness, longing, despair and desire of my former life into the Prince's song. And when I sing of whispering my name into her mouth, I think of kissing my wife's sweet lips. How our first kiss was the light of love.

I pause as sweet Christine sings the people's lament.

I resume by demanding the stars to set and dawn arrive. For at dawn, I know I will win her love. In the light of dawn, I will win.

As the final note of the last word fades, I open my eyes. My beloved stands in the center of the salon her head tilted back and arms outstretched. She has an ecstatic expression on her face and at the same time, tears stream down her cheeks, her eyes blinded by tears.

"Thank you, Erik. I will carry that with me always. It was perfection."

It takes her a moment to bring her emotions under control.

"I look forward to hearing you and Christine performing, _"The Flower Duet.""_

"We have to find Monsieur Delibes first."

She stops in the middle of wiping a tear from her eye to stare at me.

"How do you know about, _"The Flower Duet?""_

In response, I grin.

"You shared _everything._"

"But, you had me play _"Nessun Dorma"_ so you could learn it."

"Only because I love being asked into your mind, beloved."

I rush across the room and gather her into my arms. No matter how many times this woman allows me to hold her in my arms and no matter how many years pass with her at my side, I shall never become accustomed to the fact of her love for me. I believe in it and I trust it. I know her love is true, but I feel unworthy of it.

"You will just have to strive to earn it, my dearest." She whispers.

"Now who is peeping?"

"Tit for tat!"

We both laugh. It feels so easy, so comfortable sharing a place and being with her especially after she presented me with her wedding gift. For the first time in my life, I feel completely happy. Her gift to me the most precious I ever could receive. The world as seen through her eyes and felt by her mind, she gave to me. Never would I doubt, never could I doubt. She loves me as a man. Her man! And she loves no other man, had loved no other man as she loves me.

This is the calm moment before the storm. Soon a porter's knock on the door will sweep us away from this place. I hug her and slowly look about the place where my life changed forever through the love of this woman.

"You do know dearest that it is not places that are special."

"Yes, I am aware that it is the people in our lives that are special. I am simply adding this place to my collection of places I have been with the most special someone of my life."

"He is here."

She speaks the words a fraction of a second before the knock sounds on the door.

"I felt his footfalls. I've pretty much battened down all the hatches in the cottage to protect the two of us in the city. He has a heavy gait and I could feel it through the bottom of my feet. Just one of the things you do when you don't hear."

"That's in the past, Christine. Time to move forward. And now, on to le Hôtel Grand. Are you ready to take on the world of the opera with me?"

"I am ready to take on the world with you, my dearest husband."


	54. Paris and Le Hôtel Grand

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

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* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Fifty-Four – Paris and Le Hôtel Grand**

Our train stops at the Station Saint-Lazare, which is less than a kilometer from our lodging at le Hôtel Grand. I instruct the porters about our luggage and then leave the men to their job. I have one last "surprise" for Christine. However, I believe this one will not entirely please her.

"Christine," I begin, "Come here, my love. I need to speak with you."

She takes a seat across from me in the salon and waits for me to speak.

"This world is very different from yours, as you already know. A young, unmarried lady of rank, such as you, would never travel alone, especially not with a young, unmarried man. She would have at the very least one, usually two or more servants traveling with her to act as her chaperone as well as assist with the every day details of her bath, clothes, dress, hair and meals. A man, such as me, could travel alone, but usually would have at least his personal valet with him. Appearances are critical here. Rank and station controlled by convention, which require certain basic elements be present, yes?" She warily returns my nod. I continue. "In order to play our roles, we must have these trappings of tradition. This requires us to maintain servants. My father agrees with me. He sent Henrí and Miriam to us. They were on the train our box car transferred to last night."

"Dearest, are they to know we are married?"

A pause. "Yes." A longer pause. "We must trust them. I already trust Henrí. Otherwise, our sleeping arrangements will scandalize them. What do you think of Miriam?"

"I like her very much and believe her trustworthy. She's a sweet girl, kind, bright and has a sharp wit. Best of all, she listens to me when she helps me with my corset. The day she laced me is the only time I was comfortable in the bloody thing. I guess I can put up with this. I really don't have any choice."

"Thank you for understanding, Christine. I must go and let them know they are in charge of overseeing our luggage's arrival at the hotel. I shall return in just a moment."

True to my word, I return within five minutes. I find Christine nervously and critically examining her appearance in the salon's mirror. I walk up behind her and looking into the mirror, am amazed. Here we are two extremely introverted, self-conscious, shy people having to **_act_** as if we are two extremely extroverted, self-confident, outgoing people. The complete opposite of our true natures.

Only one small quirk gives Christine's true feelings away; she bites the left side of her lower lip.

"Relax! You are lovely beyond words!" I carefully brush my lips to hers. "Stop biting your lip, ma plus chère épouse!"

I look at our reflections, which the mirror frames beautifully. The mirror's frame lends our reflections the air of a photographic portrait. Intently, I commit the sight in the mirror to my memory, so I may sketch it later.

"_Yes, I do believe we are ready for the lion's den."_ I muse.

The two of us stand ready to launch ourselves into Parisian society. We are over-dressed for the hour of the day, our elegant attire and impeccable coifs guaranteed to provide us with instant notice.

Christine wears a "Fromont Firm, Paris" evening gown. This is not one that I purchased for her, but one she brought from her collection at home. She wears it to be daring and to flaunt the current dictates of fashion requiring women cover their arms, neck and chest when outdoors during the day. The crimson red, raw silk silhouette sheath dress is overlay with panels of jet black satin, which attach at the shoulder, run form fitting to her hips then fall separately to the hem of the train. Intricate embroidery of silk threads and glass beads run along the length of the jet black satin panels. The sleeves of the dress are wrist-length, made of sheer black lace and have silk thread and glass bead embroidery. The plunging v-neckline shows off the delicious swells of cleavage created by the artful lacing at the front of her gown. Rising from the roundness of cleavage, the neckline sweeps up her chest to her exposed collarbones. The neckline rises into a stiff, upright collar of crimson red, raw silk as it curves around the back of her head. The cuirasse bodice dress is corset-like and extends well down the hips creating a look of a body encased in armor. The dress is exceptionally form fitting and requires no bustle, but a small pad placed on a support near her tailbone, helps the fabric of the elongated train to fall well. As a sign of wealth, she wears a natural foxtail stole about her shoulders. Her long, auburn hair is in a half-up, half-down French twist, which softens the overt sexuality of her evening gown into a soft romantic look. As final touch, she has one long, curled tendril hanging from the top of her crown over the left front side of her face. I am not certain why, but I find it very arousing. She wears only the softest touch of make-up, a little blush, lipstick and a smoky-green eye shadow. I notice that Christine does give one nod to the gods of fashion as she wears a pair of black kid gloves with black and white scallop embroidery around the cuffs on her hands. The only jewelry she wears is her wedding ring, which she wears on her gloved right hand's pinkie finger. The overall effect of her appearance is to my eyes hypnotically entrancing.

I then turn to look upon my reflection in the mirror. We make an exceptionally handsome couple, if I don't say so myself. I have decided to wear full morning dress, which consists of a black cutaway coat, a black and gold double-breasted waistcoat, a pair of black striped formal trousers with braces (suspenders,) a white winged collar shirt with a single cuff that I fasten with a pair of deep red ruby cufflinks, a crimson red silk cravat held tidy with a matching ruby cravat pin, a pair of black plain Oxford boots, a black silk top hat, a pair of black kid gloves and a gold-plated walking stick topped with a blood red crystal.

My eyes find Christine's eyes in the mirror and I raise an eyebrow.

"So, what do you think?"

"Something is missing." Her eyes narrow as they run up and down my body. She tilts her head considering me then nods. "I have just the thing! Stay there! Don't move!"

Carefully, she leans and picks up her train and drapes it over her arm. She walks to the bedroom and closes the door. I am most curious as to what she hopes to retrieve from the bedroom, as I am certain all of our belongings are on their way to the hotel. The door opens less than a minute later and she returns to my side. Her eyes sparkle with a mischievous light as they meet mine in the mirror. She holds out a small white box topped by curly red ribbons.

"I believe I have just the thing right here."

Taking the box from her, I lift the lid and find an elegant satin-finish gold pocket watch and green-gold watch chain. I open the watch and notice the time is correctly set. I find these words engraved inside the case lid.

"_For my darling husband,  
Erik.  
My heart is yours always.  
With much love from your wife.  
Eternally yours,  
Christine."_

I place the watch in the front left pocket and thread the "T" bar through the bottom buttonhole of my waistcoat. I run my hands over my waistcoat and straighten my coat.

"Well?

I think they don't have a chance!" She smiles.

"Ready to do this?"

She inhales deeply and blows out the breath noisily.

"Sure. I was born ready." She adds under her breath, "Yeah! Right!"

"I heard that! Let's go!"

Christine and I debark the private box car and begin our stroll around the station house, which is busy with the hustle and bustle of late-morning activity. I feel eyes watching us. Most men take note of Christine, some even attempt nonchalance as they follow her, some people go so far as to stop and outright stare at us as we walk past. The two of us receive this attention for a number of reasons. The foremost being our appearance. The two of us impeccably dressed and coifed. I am gracious and polite to a fault, tipping my hat often to passing ladies. The lady whose hand winds through my arm stuns all who gaze upon her with her looks, dress and manners. We promenade slowly through the station while everyone else hurries to and fro. First, we consult the list of train arrivals and departures. We feign interest in a train arriving this afternoon from Montpellier. Using voice projection, I plant rumors here about Christine de Chagny and there about the new production at the Opera Populaire and all over about us. We casually stroll to the telegraph office and find several telegrams awaiting us. We seriously discuss casting choices for the new opera. People whisper behind their hands wondering, who could they possibly be? The man must be an aristocrat, the men murmur. The ladies giggle and flirt, he's so handsome! Christine uses her abilities to read lips and hear the thoughts of those nearby to learn people's names, so she can call out personal greetings. The men openly admire the small, elegant, slender yet well-formed woman with her hazel eyes, long, dark auburn hair and golden skin. People whisper. Foreign royalty, perhaps? She is shameless! The women jealously hiss. Look at the cut of her gown. It's scandalous! Christine and I glide through the crowd. We seem oblivious to the commotion we create as we sweep through the station doors. We pause for just a moment longer than necessary in order to provide adequate dramatic effect at the top of the stairs leading down to the street. By now, the entire station is buzzing with rumors flying fast and furious. Courtesy of my beloved wife's empathy, we feel the furor left in the wake of our walk. Just as we planned it. Each move carefully choreographed and rehearsed right down to this dramatic pause at the top of the stairs.

Standing at the top of the stairs, I offer Christine my hand. I accomplish this by holding up my right hand, wrist bent, palm down and with my elbow tucked in at my waist. She turns to me, dips a brief curtsy and returns to face front. She allows her hand to float up coming to lightly rest atop mine. Then with shoulders down, chest out and chin up, we descend the stairs and walk elegantly to the curb.

Sitting curbside is an elegant ivory and gold open barouche with two pairs of pure black, Friesian horses. The coachman is dressed in the livery of the family de Mornay and the coach bears the crest of le Comte de Mornay. As I see the crest and livery, I give an involuntary hiss. Christine doesn't react, but she hears my surprise.

"_A surprise for you from your father?"_ She says in the silence of our minds.

"_A surprise, yes."_

"_Does it mean what I think it does?"_

"_Beloved, I do not know. I assume nothing. We shall see."_

We receive the answer to her question as we stand next to the carriage. The coachman dismounts his perch, swiftly opens the carriage door and bows low at the waist.

"Monsieur le Comte, welcome to Paris! Mademoiselle Maire, welcome to Paris."

The man straightens his back and offers his hand to Christine. She nods her thanks, accepts his assistance and slides to the far side of the seat. I nod pleasantly at the man and inquire as to his name and health. The man seems pleased with the courtesy and responds with quiet dignity.

"My name is Alphonse and I am quite well, thank you. Where to Monsieur le Comte?"

I respond by projecting my voice again. The sound escaping my lips completely inaudible. My voice booming at the spot I choose to throw it. Currently, I throw my voice into the center of the seemingly ever-growing group of spectators that watch us from the top of the stairs, thereby making certain all of them hear our destination.

"Le Hôtel Grand at 3, Place de l'Opéra."

I am somewhat surprised when the coachman nods and bows to me. I was just about to repeat our destination to him. He gently closes the door, informs the driver of our destination and returns to his box at the rear of the carriage. The driver gives the horses a quiet command and our carriage slowly heads east on Rue Saint-Lazare.

Christine removes an ornate crimson silk and mother of pearl fan from her handbag, opens it and covers the lower half of her face with it.

"Are you aware of what you just did?" She whispers.

"Yes. I threw my voice into the crowd. An old trick I learned while I traveled with the gypsies." I shrug.

"No. Not that. When you threw your voice into the crowd, you realized the coachman wouldn't hear your response. What you didn't realize is that you projected your voice into his mind. He heard you just as if you had spoken directly to him. Very nice! It would have been better if you had planned it though."

She smiles at me with worshipping eyes, but I can see the mischief within.

"Erik, it seems you can draw on my mental abilities, but not the information I've learned to protect me. You need to be careful! You don't want to project an inappropriate thought to someone. That could have very serious repercussions and could jeopardize all of us. You have extraordinary control of your physical prowess. You need to exercise the same restraints on your emotional and mental powers. I know this has never been easy for you. Hopefully, having a wife and child will assist you in controlling your temper."

Our carriage makes a right turn onto Place du Havre and continues onto Rue du Havre.

I hear the pride in her voice at my accomplishments and I sense her underlying anxiety. She is right. In the past, when I felt angry I never exercised any self-control. I would either lash out in response or worse, plan elaborate revenges. She's right. I have too much at risk if I allow my old ways to resurface. I take her words and sear them into my mind for the love of her and the love of Trystin. Never again.

"My beloved wife, I will endeavor to be all you wish. And I beg you to be there to help me if I stumble along the way."

"I am here for you."

"As I am also here for you."

She returns her fan to her bag and arranges her skirts so we can secretly hold hands. The day is beautifully bright with only a few gray clouds scattered across the sky, which is amazing for this time of year. Those few clouds will most likely be black and threatening by this afternoon.

Our carriage makes a left turn onto Rue Auber.

"We arrived on a precipitous day. This sunny day is unusual for November. An uncommon break in the weather. Tomorrow we will see heavy rain." I predict.

"Yes, I can feel the rain in my bones. I understand the reason for having the open carriage, but with my dress' neckline and the sheer sleeves, I wish I had worn my cloak instead of this bit of fluff."

She indicates the foxtail stole draped about her shoulders. I don't have the heart to tell her that she's going to be even more uncomfortable later today as the weather turns colder. The dress she currently wears causes my mind to wander. Her gown requires a very tightly cinched corset and provides my sight with a generous display of décolleté. My mind wanders and I picture her in the pale celadon green ball gown of silk, satin and taffeta brocade as she wears the jewelry I designed as her wedding gift. My body begins to respond to my imaginings of her with a stirring of heat in my loins.

The carriage bears right on Place de l'Opéra.

"Erik, I am extremely flattered that the mere thought of me manages to arouse you. However, you need to maintain your composure, my love. Your trousers hide nothing. I have no wish to share even the sight of you with any of these Parisian trollops! Think cold shower."

"Why, Madame, I had no idea ladies think of such things!"

"Monsieur, ladies do. Most are simply practiced liars and are able to hide this from the men in their lives. As I told you when we met, I do not play mind games. I have never pretended to be anything but a wanton as far as you are concerned." Her chuckle is low and suggestive.

"Christine! You are not helping!" I take several deep breaths and as the carriage pulls to a stop, I am ready to take on the most challenging opponents any Parisian can battle, the Hotel Registration Desk Clerk.

The coachman hops down and silently opens the carriage door for us. I exit first. Smiling at the coachman, I dismiss him, he nods and returns to his perch. I turn to Christine and hold out my hand to her. She daintily lays her gloved hand in mine, carefully lifts her skirt and train, then exits the carriage. I close the door behind her. We turn and begin the short walk to the hotel's front doors.

The doorman, who became aware of us the moment our carriage stopped at the curb, has propped open the right door and holds the left door open as he awaits us. I nod at him and swiftly slip a 20 gold franc coin into his hand as I enter a half step ahead of Christine. I feel rather than see his surprised pleasure as he notes the amount of the tip. The doorman bows his head to Christine as she walks past him and through the door with her hand on my arm, she keeps her eyes straight ahead, but downcast slightly. It is our intention to keep people guessing about our relationship. We want people to think it possible we are in the midst of a brazen love affair as well as we might be brother and sister. As soon as we are through the doors, I gently move Christine so she walks at my side and place my hand protectively atop hers. We bypass the people waiting in line at the Registration Desk. Heads turn and resentful eyes watch us. We walk casually past the Registration Desk directly to a posh desk with a polished brass plaque, which reads, "Le Hôtel Grand Member Club."

No clerk is behind the desk.

"_Time for a quick decision: loud and obnoxious or gracious and regal?"_ I ask her silently.

"_I vote for gracious and regal."_ My beloved's voice speaks in my mind.

"_Then gracious and regal it is ma chère cœur."_

We stop in front of the desk and stand side-by-side for a few moments. When the clerk at the Registration Desk does not acknowledge our presence and no one else indicates service shall be forthcoming, I turn and raise an eyebrow to the doorman. The smiling man nods at me. He hesitates for only a moment and then quickly leaves his post. He hurriedly walks to the Bell Desk and whispers for a moment to the Bell Captain then returns to his post at the door. I watch with growing amusement as word of our arrival spreads like wildfire up through the ranks of hotel employees.

The entire process takes only a minute or two before a nervous little man hurries to the desk.

"Monsieur, pardonnez-moi! May I be of assistance?"

"Yes, Monsieur, you may. I have reserved the Blue and Gold Suite and would like to check in."

"Ah yes, Monsieur. Very good. Very good. One moment while I check our list."

The poor man seems to shrink at least three inches as he comes upon my name and I swear a bead of sweat forms on his brow.

"Yes, here we are. Monsieur le Comte de Mornay – The Blue and Gold Suite. Yes. Yes." He places a ledger book on the counter before me. "If you could please sign the Guest Book, we can show you to your suite." His eyes look nervously at Christine and he seems about to speak.

"Is there something else, Monsieur?" I ask him gently.

"Monsieur le Comte will excuse the indelicacy of my inquiry, but … the young lady?"

"Of course, my apologies! She has the Red and Gold Suite."

I swear the poor man is about to faint over his fear of insulting me.

"And, and the lady's account?"

"I shall be handling both of our accounts. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes, of course. Again, my apologies if I was indelicate."

"No apologies necessary. Now, I would like to inquire as to the status of my valet, the lady's maid and our luggage, which were sent ahead from the station."

The manager steps away from the desk. He raises a hand and signals the Bell Captain over to him. The two men converse quietly for a moment.

The manager returns to the desk.

"All has arrived safely and will be taken to your suites immediately, Monsieur le Comte."

"Thank you. Is there anything else?"

"No. No. Everything is in order. Here are the keys, Monsieur le Comte."

He hands me two ornate keys. One is inlaid with blue and gold cloisonné and the other with red and gold cloisonné.

"Thank you."

"Now, I would like to present to you our Bell Captain, Pierre. He will escort you and the lady to your suites. Please, if you should find you need anything, do not hesitate to let us know. It is our pleasure to make your stay at le Hôtel Grand as comfortable as possible. Our concierge services are excellent." Abruptly, he stops, clears his throat, then continues. "I am terribly sorry, but my presence is required elsewhere. Please, excuse me?"

I nod at him graciously and turn to Pierre.

"If you would please come this way Monsieur le Comte, Madame. Our club guests have use of a private lift. After all, we have no wish to make the lady walk up seven flights of stairs, now do we?"

He chuckles as if his jest was actually amusing. He looks back at us over his shoulder and for a split second rakes his eyes over Christine, but in that moment I catch something vile. In that brief glance, I felt him violate her with his eyes. After a moment, I understand. This is one of the ugly moments Christine has experienced through her empathy. She unconsciously walks closer beside me. She never allows these mental assaults to bring her to the base rank of people like Pierre.

She senses my thoughts and I hear her_. "Small steps, my love. Small steps. We cannot change the world overnight. And we definitely cannot change it with anger or hatred. So, let the misogynistic Luddite look. As long as he only thinks and doesn't act, I have no quarrel with him. Forget him. He is not worthy of your attention."_

I know she is right, but I still feel uneasy about this man and resolve to keep an eye on him. After all, no one is aware that Christine is my wife. Christine, bless her, is from a different world. She does not understand that some men in my world believe taking liberties with a woman or using force is acceptable, even expected when dealing with a mistress.

"Monsieur? Madame? Or is it Mademoiselle?"

The man leers at Christine. She involuntarily flinches. This serves to incite the wolf further and he edges closer to her. I feel her trembling, but not with fear. My lady is steeling her nerves and readying herself to attack. Seeking to diffuse the situation and prevent any future difficulties, I interject and answer on behalf of my lady.

"Excuse me. It is Mademoiselle Maire, Monsieur. As a gentleman, I am honor-bound to inform you that this young lady is a ward of my family. My father, Comte Jean-Paul de Mornay is her guardian. He placed her under my care and protection while we visit Paris. Please know this: I will take great exception to any insult against her."

The man blinks in surprise, turns away from Christine and his shoulders hunch.

"This way please." He grumbles.

We enter the lift. I have heard of these devices and I know that Christine has been in many over the course of her life. The man sullenly slides the gate closed and then chooses the 7th floor button. The small box we are standing in lurches and noisily begins its bouncing ascent to the top floor. The trip takes several minutes, but the man was correct. It did save a lot of wear and tear on our feet.

We exit the car into a large glass domed lobby. The floor is brilliant white marble with a red and gold Persian carpet. A deep blue brocade hangs on the walls. Today's sunshine sparkles off the gold fleur-de-lis patterns woven into the brocade. Hung on the wall to the left of the elevator is the painting "Le Moulin de la galette" by Pierre-Auguste Renoir and to the right of the elevator the painting "Two Sisters (On the Terrace)" again, by Pierre-Auguste Renoir. The wall directly across from the elevator has a huge portrait depicting a young Napoleon with sword drawn mounted on a rearing white horse. The painting is "Napoleon Crossing the Saint-Bernard" by Jacques-Louis David. I cannot take credit for knowing the names of the paintings or the artists (well, I am familiar with the David portrait.) I have no idea who Renoir is, but gleaned the information from an art class history Christine took in college. Monsieur Renoir, I take it is a contemporary of mine. The first painting about five years old and the second completed earlier this year. Overall the lobby is exquisitely decorated and completely silent. There are two suite entry doors across from the elevator, one on either side of Napoleon's portrait. The Bell Captain leads us to the one on the right first. He turns to me and holds out his hand. I glance at the door and read a small brass plaque inscribed, **"Red & Gold Suite."** I hand the man the appropriate key. He opens the door and we follow him into the room. The room is as promised. I kiss Christine chastely on the cheek.

"Please change, my dear. We must not be late for our appointment at the Conservatoire."

Christine plays the innocent by lowering eyes and dipping a girlish curtsy to me.

"I promise not to keep you waiting, Monsieur Erik."

"Very well. We leave in two hours."

"Yes, Monsieur. Until then."

She turns and walks out to the suite's salon and into the bedroom. I faintly hear her begin her warm-up exercises of scales, which makes me smile. I turn to the Bell Captain.

"After you Monsieur."

I stand before the suite next door. I read a small brass plaque inscribed, **"Blue & Gold Suite."** The man unlocks the door and returns both keys to me. I generously tip the man hoping to bring the unpleasantness over Christine to a close. His surliness disappears as he peeks into the pouch I handed him and quickly counts the 200 francs it contains. He bows low and turns to depart, but pauses at the door. He turns back to me.

"Monsieur le Comte, I would like to apologize for my rudeness. I have no excuse. Please accept my sincerest apologies."

"I accept your apology. Think no more of it. Consider the matter is forgotten."

I think, _"In a pig's eye,"_ but stand impassively waiting for the man to leave. He hesitates a moment longer before speaking again.

He clears his throat nervously and says.

"If Monsieur … There is … I mean …Well, Monsieur, there is a door which connects the two suites. Would you like to have the door unlocked?"

The man's face has turned a bright scarlet.

I pause and consider his offer.

"Could you come with me?"

Now, the man goes ashen.

"No. It's quite all right. Please. This will just take a moment of your time."

I lead the unnerved man back to Christine's room and knock on her door. After a moment, Christine calls through the door.

"Who is there?" Christine's muffled voice calls through the door.

I answer, "Monsieur Erik, Mademoiselle."

The door opens and her eyes peep through the small slit of open door.

"Yes?"

I turn to Pierre.

"You may give the key to the young lady. If she wishes the connecting door open, say to dine with me. She can unlock and lock it as she sees fit."

He hands the key to Christine, bows and beats a very hasty retreat from the 7th floor.

I take Christine's hand in mine, bend over it and place a courtly kiss upon the back of it.

"I shall see you soon?"

"Oh oui, Monsieur."

She withdraws her hand, smiles at me with her eyes and quietly closes the door.

Returning to my suite, I spend the next quarter hour speaking with Henrí while he unpacks my things and lays out clothes for the visit to the Conservatoire. I ask him to draw me a bath as I find I have plenty of time to take a nice, long bath. The suite's bathroom has a marvelous roman tub that (for once) seems long enough for my body. I dismiss Henrí to go to his room and then ready myself to enter the tub.

The water envelops my body within its warmth, relaxing me. Dealing with people has never been my strong suit. The false facade of civility has always felt to me like more of a mask than the ones I wore upon my face ever did. I close my eyes, lean back and let my head float in the water. So peaceful and quiet. As always, my mind drifts to thoughts of my wife. My Christine. Ma chère cœur. She healed my broken heart and granted me paradise here on earth. Ma chère cœur! I want to feel her sweet lips all over my body. I wonder what she is doing now. And even though I can feel her presence in my mind, I miss her. My head bobs unexpectedly in the water. Opening my eyes, I find her entering the tub. Her slender body golden and glorious. Oh, she of the smiling eyes!

"What do you think you are doing?" I purr contentedly.

"What do I think? I? I heard you. You miss me. So, I am here. You desire to feel my kisses all over your body. Hmmm … do you now. Well, I am here. I am here to attend to your every desire, my husband."

"First, come closer, ma chère cœur! I need to touch you and make certain you are not a dream."

"I am yours alone to command, my dearest husband."

All too soon, we must leave the tub and our lovemaking for later. We hurriedly dress for our visit to the Conservatoire. While the bath we shared was bliss, it has left us with precious little time before our appointment. And, Christine, while a collector of "period" or "vintage" clothing, I worry she hasn't realized the amount of time required for a lady to dress. I am therefore pleasantly surprised and very impressed when I enter her suite to find her completely dressed. She is standing before a full-length mirror in her bathroom adjusting her favorite hat on her head with Miriam nowhere in sight.

"You cheated! By wearing a riding habit, you bypassed the whalebone corset and bustle. I've been very concerned that the styles of my time were going to be unbearable for you."

My eyes run up and down her body in a silent caress. This is a dress I haven't seen before, so she must have brought it from her collection. The fabric shimmers and appears to be either pale olive green (which matches her hat) or a silvery dove gray depending on the angle of the light. The long, flowing style as well as her perfect posture gives my 5'2" lady the illusion of being much taller.

"Ready?"

"Just one more pin, my love." She struggles for a moment. "There! That's got it! Well, "she turns to me, "do I pass inspection?"

"If I look at you any more, we are going to miss our appointment altogether!"

"Then, I will take that as a yes."

She walks to my side and kisses me on the cheek.

"Love you. Let's go!"

Offering my arm to her, she sighs and slips into character, which makes me, sigh as well.

* * *

** THE DRESSES CHRISTINE WEARS ARE REAL. IF YOU WOULD CARE TO VIEW THEM, JUST DROP ME A NOTE OR BETTER YET, WRITE A REVIEW AND I WILL SEND YOU THE WEBSITE ADDRESSES WHERE I FOUND THEM.**

* * *


	55. Monsieur Delibes

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Fifty-Five – Monsieur Delibes**

"Okay, Romeo! Get a move on!" She quietly smirks.

There is only a minor commotion over Christine's decision to ride a horse instead of using a carriage. The Front Desk's attitude quickly improves after I provide proper monetary motivation. I have decided that paying for services is much faster, easier and has none of the worrisome consequences of blackmail or threats. It is an amazing thing how quickly a person can become civilized when one has money. The thing that I'm trying to decide is whether the cause of my gentrification is my restored features or Christine's presence in my mind. Most likely a combination of both factors. A polite cough brings me out of my reverie. Our horses are ready.

The trip to the Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique et de Danse de Paris is short and quick for which I am very thankful. Christine riding side-saddle makes me very nervous and I'm not sure why as she appears to be quite comfortable with it. The building is a rather plain 3-story rectangular building, which appears to my eye made of concrete masonry located at the corner of Rue Bergère and Rue Sainte-Cécile. For a building that teaches music and dance, I find it not at all graceful and I make a mental note to design a proper building for this institution sometime in the future.

We dismount and secure the horses then enter the building.

After asking several people, we find a person who directs us to M. Delibes offices on the third floor. We stroll into the office with about 30 seconds to spare and find an empty office. Christine giggles and quickly covers her mouth with her fist to clear her throat.

"Figures!" She mumbles. "Absent-minded professors. Should we take a seat? After all, the windows and doors are open and that appears to be his briefcase sitting on the chair."

"Might as well. Unless you have another idea."

"Nope. However, this may be the perfect opportunity for me to make a suggestion." Her voice has a tinge of guilt in it.

"I am listening."

"I know that ever since you appeared in my den, you haven't been able to work on any of your compositions. My suggestion is that you may wish to consider collaborating with M. Delibes on the score of Lakmé."

Her words take me by surprise. She is correct, I haven't composed anything since she and I met. That in and of itself is unusual, but what I find disconcerting is I hadn't noticed. Six weeks and I haven't composed a note, written a lyric, painted, built, designed anything. This is a first for me. Then, I know the reason and I am comforted. I have been creating something during the last six weeks. Christine and I have been building a future together, creating joy and making love.

"So, where is the part that causes the twinges of guilt?"

"You're learning quickly." Her eyes refuse to meet mine.

"Christine?"

"It will come to you. Think on it for a moment."

A collaboration with Léo Delibes on the score of Lakmé. Music that people appreciate more than a century into the future. Music that I know—

"Music that I know. You fear," I pause, searching for the word, then continue, "yes, that's it! You fear a paradox. You know me well enough that you know it will be impossible for me to be a part of this production and not offer some creative input. But, I already know the music, I cannot—"

"Stop!" She startles me with her abruptness. "I would not have broached this subject if I didn't have a way to resolve this problem."

"Ahh! So, this is where your guilt enters into it. What do you suggest?"

"I remove my memory of Lakmé from both our minds. Permanently. That way there is no paradox just an alternate probability. I would prefer not to do this, as I have no way to gauge the ripple effect of your collaboration. The safest choice is for you to content yourself with your performance as male lead, the direction, stage and costume design of the production. You need to decide now before you are tempted. Listening to them go through the creative process will be very difficult for both of us. So, I need you to decide for me. What shall I do? Is there a third choice? Something I do not see?"

She is visibly trembling, her fear breaks my heart and I quickly take her into my arms to hold tight to my chest. I stroke her back and think.

"My answer is this: I will not interfere with Lakmé's creation. I will be busy with other things, not the least of which being the Vicomte de Chagny. Christine, do not cry! Oh, ma chère cœur! I will write my own music. We have the rest of our lives to do all the things we never could do no, never dared do before! Let M. Delibes compose his masterpiece. I am content in the knowledge that we will use it to free not just Christine, but all of us."

I hold her, gently rocking her until she regains her composure. She amazes me. How well she knows me and anticipates my desire to create even before I do. And yet, she would dare all if I had chosen otherwise. For me, she would defy the fates!

"Ma chère cœur!"

"Mon amour précieux!" If we want to maintain our assumed roles, I suppose we appear more business-like and not be found in one another's arms."

I kiss her lightly on the forehead.

"True. Are you ready?"

"I'm all right now."

I nod and release her. She straightens and smoothes her skirt.

"You look fine, ma chère."

She smiles and clears her throat. Her eyes move in and out of focus so quickly that anyone other than me would not have noticed.

"Someone's coming."

Two men enter. One, I think of as "The Rogue" and the other, "The Fop." They are deep in conversation and do not notice the two of us, so I stand and walk toward them.

"Messieurs, good afternoon! I am Erik de Mornay and this is my associate, Mademoiselle Christine Maire."

The men look at me and then towards Christine. She stands up to her full height of 5'2" and yet her bearing gives her the illusion of height. Her chin comes up, her head tilts slightly, her eyes perform an obvious inspection of the men before her and then she offers each man a small nod of her head.

The reaction of the two men to my wife is almost comical. Almost. "The Rogue" stops and blinks in surprise. He stares intently at her, assessing her physical attributes, lastly his eyes look at her left hand for a wedding ring. Seeing no ring, he finally raises his gaze to her bust and there they remain. "The Fop" seems to be assessing the cut of her clothes, otherwise dismisses her as being of no account, just a woman. He has no interest in her at all.

Suddenly, I feel a flash of anger, quickly suppressed. My eyes slide to my wife. Her eyes bear the dying embers of her rage. I disguise my smile by clearing my throat and covering my mouth. These gentlemen know not that which they sorely test! However, they shall learn. They shall learn!

"The Fop" gives Christine a perfunctory bow and then is the first to speak.

"Monsieur de Mornay. Mam'selle Maire. A pleasure. I am Edmond Gondinet."

"The Rogue" saunters to my wife and makes a courtly bow.

"Mademoiselle Maire, I am enchanted to make your acquaintance. Phillipe Gille, at your service, my dear."

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch M. Gondinet rolling his eyes heavenward.

My wife says nothing to M. Gille. Her look speaks volumes and I must begrudgingly give M. Gille the credit due to him for he winces as he sees the sharp intelligence in her eyes. He hesitates for a moment then turns to me holding our his hand.

"Monsieur de Mornay! Phillipe Gille. At your service!"

I offer him my hand and he firmly shakes it in greeting. His eyes assess me cautiously. I tower over both men.

"So, where is our host? M. Delibes? Is it his habit to run late or should we be honored as an exception?" Christine speaks using her stage voice; soft, sweet, clear.

M. Gondinet turns to her and seems to reconsider his previous dismissal of her.

"He is often tardy, Mam'selle. May I inquire as to your interest in this libretto?"

"You may." Her reply light, musical and gently teasing.

For a moment, her small joke goes unrecognized then the true import of her reply dawns on M. Gondinet. He gives a delighted chuckle, which causes M. Gille to gape in surprise at his partner.

"Mademoiselle, you are the rarest of women! You have amused M. Gondinet!"

"A small jest to pass the time. In answer to your query M. Gondinet, I wish to invest in the production of your libretto as does my guardian, Jean-Paul Comte de Mornay du Montmuran. And, if at all possible, I would like to audition for a role. If you should have a role which would be suitable for my vocal abilities. My vocal range is G2 through G5. My favored style is bel canto and I have mastered the messa di voce technique. Of course, when necessary I can add vibrato, as I do not believe in limiting my voice to one style. I make no claim to being a prima donna. I believe my talents are best suited in secondary roles, not leads. I am most comfortable in roles requiring a Mezzo-Soprano, Alto or Contralto voice. Soubrette, Coloratura, Dugazon, Falcon, Spinto, Lyric or Dramatic makes no difference to me. The physical characteristics of the role determine those classifications and I am a capable actress. The only class I will have no part of is a Hochdramatischer soprano, but I do not believe that ever would apply to M. Delibes' compositions. Gentlemen, my investment in the production is not to purchase a role, but merely request an audition. I make no demands. I have no expectations, except for one. I expect to audition and if upon your consideration, you believe my voice, appearance and abilities are acceptable then we can discuss terms. Now, I have monopolized your time long enough. Thank you for your attentiveness."

She smiles at each of us in turn and then returns to her chair to look out the window. I am stunned! Not only was that the longest and haughtiest speech I have ever heard my wife make, it was very disconcerting for me to realize that I had simply accepted her self-deprecating words regarding her vocal abilities. I should have known. I've heard her sing. Many times! My mind runs through the times she sang for me, to me, with me and I discover something else I find astounding. Unlike my relationship with Christine Daae, I never felt a need to coach my wife's voice. It was always perfect, even when she claimed it wasn't. I teased her once about her range making my voice irrelevant, but I never felt a need to criticize her voice. And much to my chagrin, I have never praised it either.

M. Gondinet stares intently at Christine. I see a professional man assessing a potential asset. M. Gille simply wishes to bed my wife.

The silence of the room is broken as a short, heavy-set man with a unruly dark beard and mustache breathlessly enters. His suit is rumpled and poorly tailored. In his hands he carries a leather portfolio.

"Ah, gentlemen, gentlemen," he pauses as his eyes register Christine, "Hmm, Mademoiselle! I apologize for my tardiness. I encountered a student in the hall and was delayed when he requested a short conference regarding a problem he was having with a composition."

He moves to his desk and drops the portfolio there. He immediately walks to Christine and bows.

"Mademoiselle Maire?"

Christine stands and curtsies.

"Yes."

"I am Léo Delibes. I received a letter from Monsieur le Comte de Mornay, which informed me of his and your interest in the score I am writing in collaboration with Messieurs Gondinet and Gille. It is such a pleasure to meet you. May I offer you anything?"

I like M. Delibes immediately and I can tell Christine does too. One of her radiant smiles spreads across her face and she offers her hand to him. He takes it, places a fatherly kiss on the back of it and releases it gently.

"I am pleased to meet you as well. M. Delibes, I would like to present my escort, Erik de Mornay."

Her eyes find and hold mine for a moment. She lets her love for me peek from her eyes for just an instant before allowing her mask to drop back into place. I love how she loves me!

M. Delibes turns to me.

"Ah! Erik! So, you are Jean-Paul's son? Again, it is a pleasure to meet you. Your father has been a wonderful supporter of my efforts in the past. We have corresponded often, but never met. I am very happy to meet you."

He wears a huge smile on his face, but even better, his eyes smile too. He crosses the space between us in a instant and before I realize his intentions, I find myself the recipient of a giant bear hug. I cannot help but laugh and hug him back.

"Believe me, Monsieur, the pleasure is truly mine!" I laugh as we release one another.

"Now, now, none of that! Léo, please? My name is Léo!"

His words include Christine as well. She has returned to her chair. She smiles and nods. Her attention then returns to gazing out the window.

"Well, Messieurs. How about we take a look at the libretto and a few ideas I've been playing with regarding the score?"


	56. Sad Passing of the Opera Ghost

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Fifty-Six – The Sad Passing of the Opera Ghost**

I am so confused. The feeling hit me as I made my small joke to M. Gondinet. I turn my eyes away from the direction of the pain. His pain. I try to reassure myself by looking at my dearest husband, but even though my eyes tell me he is standing not ten feet away from me I know he is there as well. I must go. I must have the courage to show him he is not alone. I have to go now or it will be too late. Why did I not think of this before? Stupid! My legs lift me from the chair and my mouth forms a smile, which I allow to enter my eyes. Make your excuses, stupid woman! Hurry and go! Excellent. I am standing and they are huddled around Léo's desk taking no notice of me. Not even Erik. I smile sadly. Second place to music. That's all right. Music will save us all.

One foot in front of the other. Keep walking. Now down the stairs. Another hall. There's the doorway. Okay. Untie your horse. Anyone looking? No? No. Good. I bend, pull the fabric of my skirt tight between my legs, swiftly and with a small pang of regret I plunge my finger through the fabric, then rip my skirt so I will be able to ride astride Erik's horse. No time for side-saddle. Check for gawkers. No one. I leap onto the horse and follow his despair. Two minutes, I stand at the Rue Scribe entrance. Locked. No problem. A hat pin later, the door swings open and I begin my descent into the darkness. Strange, I don't seem to need any light. His despair, his pain, his need overwhelm me. My Erik needs me! He is dying! Keep to the right, yes, there it is. A trapdoor. Oh my trapdoor lover! Turn left, bend down, count three bricks up, push. A click and the wall slides open to reveal the Phantom's lair.

It is dark here, but not quiet. I hear a violin playing. Now it's sweet sound work in combination with the raw emotions emanating from the man lead me directly to him. Candle light from a single candelabra illuminates his bed chamber. I walk slowly up the stairs and look into the room, the bed, where the man who became my husband and I made love for the first time. He sits on that bed now with eyes closed, playing his violin and waiting to die. He cannot die, but he cannot remain. Two cannot exist here. Not at the same time, not at the place. He must be welcomed. I must help this Erik find healing. He must be welcomed into the family.

My heart knows the song he plays. I sing:

"

Shamed into solitude,  
shunned by the multitude,  
I learned to listen.  
In my dark my heart heard music.

I longed to teach the world,  
Rise up and reach the world.  
No one would listen.  
I alone could hear the music.

Then at last,  
a voice in the gloom,  
seemed to cry,  
I hear you!  
I hear your fears,  
your torment and your tears.

He saw my loneliness.  
Shared in my emptiness.  
No one would listen.  
No one but him,  
heard as the outcast hears."

The violin ceases its sweet sound and I feel his feverish gaze as it burns through my body and into my soul, but I continue to sing the final refrain _a capella_.

"_No one would listen.  
No one but him,  
heard as the outcast hears."_

As the echoes created by my giving voice to his song fade, he finds his voice and speaks. I hear a broken man. I hear the tortured longing in his voice and it breaks my heart.

"Christine?"

Both of us distressed by this encounter, we seek one another. He lifts his haunted face and his eyes lock onto mine. I smile lovingly at him. My dearest husband sits before me waiting, but not knowing why or for what he waits. He waits for me.

"Yes, Erik. I am here now."

He calmly places the violin next to him on the bed and sings to me.

"Christine, I love you!"

I walk to the bed and the gaunt man sits there staring at me. His eyes begin to shine with wonder and hope. On my left hand I wear his ring and as I walk toward the man sitting on the edge of his bed, I unconsciously begin to twirl the ring with my right hand. He lowers his eyes, sees I wear a wedding ring his hopeful gaze begins to crumble. However, unlike the girl Christine I do not stop when I reach arm's length from him, but continue to his side and sit next to him on the bed. As I sit, I hear the long raspy intake of his breath. He sits holding his breath, awaiting the rejection he is certain will come.

I turn to him. My beautiful man weeps.

"No!" I cannot bear the heartbreak he feels. His loneliness. He is my angel. I raise my hand and caress the ruined side of his face. He gasps and begins to breathe once more. Our eyes meet.

The world spins. Our hands instinctively latch onto one another for support.

I see the life my husband would have lived if we had not met through the eyes of this man. Eleven years of solitude. He see the life my husband has shared with me because we did meet. Tears stream down both of our faces. Still holding onto each other's arms, we lean forward until our foreheads touch. We rest this way, leaning forehead to forehead, our body's barely rocking side-to-side. We wait as our thoughts become still, calm. We wait for the world to make sense.

"You are my wife?" He whispers.

"Yes."

"We are happy."

It is not a question, so I do not answer it. It is not necessary. He knows.

"Where am I now?"

"My husband," my words send a shiver through his body, "is discussing a libretto with the playwright, librettist and composer. He is at the Paris Conservatoire."

He nods.

"Do we have children?"

"Not yet. We just married two days ago, but I was married before and widowed. I have a daughter from the union. She loves you very much. Almost as much as her mother loves you."

He is now actively trembling.

"Why am I dying?"

"You are not dying, mon plus chèr."

The trembling is now shaking.

"Then, what is this that I am feeling?"

"You cannot both exist. There can be only one Erik. My husband and I share a soul. We have joined the broken halves. The two of us tied, one to the other. We will never let go. It grounds my husband. It gives him a strength you do not have. What you feel, mon plus chèr is just the opposite of death. It is life. When you surrender to the force you feel, you will become one with my husband. There will be one Erik. You will live in he and he will live in you."

"You will be my wife?"

"Yes, mon mari aimé."

The shaking becomes quaking.

"How is it that he, we, uh, I walk in the light?"

"You have no reason to hide."

"But my face!"

"Your face?"

"Woman, are you blind?"

"No."

"I am a monster. Women faint and men scream."

"You are no monster, mon amour."

I stand and offer him my hand. We walk hand in hand to a covered mirror. He quickly averts his eyes as I pull the tapestry from it and turn him to face the mirror.

"This is my Erik. The man I love. Mon amour. The man I married. This is what I see when I look at you. This is how you have always appeared to me. This is the man that has always existed only the world has been too blind to see him. This is you, mon ange."

Hesitantly, he raises his eyes to his reflection and ….


	57. Mistaken Identity

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Fifty-Seven – Mistaken Identity**

I sit in the rickety chair of M. Delibes' office watching life pass by the Conservatoire. For the smallest instant of time, I had seen his pure joy before finding myself here once more. My eyes turn to seek out the man I so desperately adore. He stands as a part of the group of men gathered around M. Delibes' desk deep in their discussion of the libretto. Erik leans over with his elbows on the desk, but he straightens and turns to me just as my eyes seek him. His eyes meet mine.

_"I love you."_ He mouths the words and I hear his voice echoing inside my head.

He cocks his head for a moment, blinks and his voice comes into my mind again.

_"We love you, ma chère cœur!"_

With an almost imperceptible shake of my head, I silently reply, _"Erik, I love you and there is only you."_

_"Thank you, Christine. You have saved me in more ways and more times than you will ever know."_

_"As you have done for me, mon amour. Back to work! I think I'll go for a walk."_

I rise and glance at my skirt. I smile happy that my skirt is undamaged.

"Gentlemen, I believe I will go for a walk around the Conservatoire while you work out the details. M. de Mornay, please do not forget our engagement this evening. Curtain is at 9:00 p.m. and I would like to dine before the production." I incline my head slightly. "Gentlemen, it has been an honor making your acquaintances. I wish you a productive meeting, excuse me."

I spend the next several hours wandering about the Conservatoire. The music I hear as I walk by the different salons and theaters is astounding. This is a place where I feel very much out of my league. My stomach growls. I haven't eaten since breakfast and decide to take a look outside to see if there is anywhere I might find something to eat. I walk outside and find I have about an hour left before sunset. I stop at our horses and retrieve my cloak from my saddle pack. I toss it about me and tie it. Then I turn my attention to the buildings surrounding the Conservatoire. I sigh. Don't artists eat? I giggle. How 21st century of me to be expecting fast food. The nondescript neighborhood of Noon has entered the golden hour just before sunset and all of the buildings appear as burnished brass.

"Just lovely." I murmur.

"Yes, you are."

My eyes remain on the golden tableau as I lean back briefly, pressing my body against his. My hand snakes to his face and caresses his cheek. I freeze and my hand recoils from the face it touches. The wrong face! And then, not wishing to make a scene, I step away from this stranger I touched.

"Why, Mademoiselle how forward of you!"

"I beg your pardon, monsieur. I mistook you for someone else." I turn around.

A sharp inhalation of breath becomes a quiet cry of dismay and horror when I find it is not Erik standing behind me, but Phillipe Gille. I feel the evidence of my embarrassment as a blush burns across my face. My mind immediately seeks out Erik. He is still in the office upstairs.

"_Erik, I need you to come right away! Please!"_

"_What's happened, ma épouse?"_

"_I was admiring the view and not paying attention. I've pretty much been on empathic overload the last few days, so I shut that part of me away in the cottage. I enjoyed the visual. You know the colors, shapes and textures of the moment. I whispered aloud, but to myself that the view was "just lovely." I heard a voice reply, "yes, you are." I thought it was you behind me, so I leaned back and caressed what I thought was your cheek. As soon as I touched that cheek, I knew it was not you! I turned and to my everlasting horror, found it was M. Gille! I am so upset! Please come! I am so sorry to interrupt you, but I don't feel comfortable when I'm near him. He makes my skin crawl! It never crossed my mind that anyone other than you would pay attention to me that way."_

"_I am on my way. Where are you, Christine!"_

Looking up into a very amused pair of deep blue eyes.

"_I'm standing on the sidewalk in front of the Rue Sainte-Cécile entrance."_

"Monsieur, I humbly beg your forgiveness! I … I … was expecting someone else."

"Well, Mademoiselle, I am so disappointed. For a moment, I hoped that your affections were for me. I am most jealous of this "someone else." Perhaps, you will join me for dinner and allow me to convince you of my worthiness as a suitor."

"I must decline your kind offer. My evening is already promised to another."

"_Erik!"_

"May I inquire as to whether or not your guardian will allow a gentleman to call on you? Possibly court you?"

"My guardian is not currently in Paris. Jean-Paul instructed me that I am not to entertain any gentlemen unless he is present. I gladly acquiesce to his wishes. However, monsieur, I must also inform you in the plainest words possible, I do not wish to receive **_any_** callers at this point in time. My heart belongs to another."

"Now, now! You are much too young to waste your favors on just one man." His voice is dark and oily. It holds none of the beauty or enchantment of my husband's voice. This man is one of the most handsome and at the same time, one of the most repulsive creatures I have ever met. He makes me feel thoroughly unclean.

For a moment I am too stunned and have absolutely no idea how to reply. His words go way beyond the border of crude rudeness. My fear of him pushed aside by my intense dislike, which grows stronger each moment I am in his lecherous presence. My mouth opens and words rush out before I can stop them. I speak (as always) from my heart.

"Monsieur," I reply coldly, "I spoke of my heart. The thing of which you speak is that which you can purchase in a bordel. My heart is not for sale nor is my body. If you have even the slightest bit of honor or decency in you, you will remove yourself from my sight and speak to me no more."

He hisses and roughly grabs my wrist.

"Little bitch! You are in need of a good fuck! And I am just the one to give it to you!"

He begins to drag me towards a carriage. I resist my instinctive reaction and do not fight him. Instead, I decide to meet his attack with a feint. My eyes roll up and I collapse to the pavement.

The man swears and then as he bends to pick me up, I slip my hand beneath my skirt, into my boot and withdraw one of my knives. As his arm wraps around my waist, I quickly bring the point up and gently press it into the base of his chin.

"Speak one more word of disrespect to me, monsieur and it will be your last. Now, let me go!"

My words ring out strong and clear with no sign of weakness. The man ceases to move as he realizes a knife presses into his flesh. I twist the blade just enough to knick him and draw blood.

"I will make this request one more time. Remove your hands from my person IMMEDIATELY!"

His hands remain glued to my body, so I push the tip of the blade deeper. The blade draws the skin dangerously taut. The blade requires only the slightest increase in pressure to pierce his flesh. He feels this and as understanding dawns in his mind, his hands fall feebly away from my body. I roll away from him and stand.

"Perhaps you have learned something today. Perhaps not. Not all women are whores. And whether they are or no, no one deserves treatment like this, no one! Now, GO!"

My final word spurs him into action and he runs to his carriage. Just as he opens the door of his carriage, I hear the doors of the Conservatoire flung open behind me.

"CHRISTINE!"

My eyes remain fixed on the movements of the creature (I refuse to call it a man) that scrambles into its carriage. The carriage door slams shut and a muffled order given to the driver. The driver nods and with a flick of the reins the carriage speeds away. The last I see of the creature is a pale white face peeking out the curtains of the carriage. The carriage turns a corner. It is gone. I realize I had been holding my breath and decide that breathing would be a good thing to do. I allow my shoulders to relax as I take deep breaths through my nose and release them through my mouth.

And then, his arms are around me.

"Oh, Erik!"

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. Just a moment, mon mari aimé."

I loosen his embrace, bend over and slip my knife back into my boot. As I straighten, I fight the urge to wiggle my bottom against Erik. Standing once more, I draw his arms about me tightly. I sigh.

"I feel like such a fool."

"What happened?"

And so I tell him, simply with no embellishments and leaving nothing out.

"I feel like such an ass, Erik. The thought of someone else speaking to me that way, well, if you had asked me before this happened I would have said the idea was absurd. I had my guard up and was lost in the moment. When he spoke, my only thought was that everything was perfect because you were with me. And then, everything went to hell. I am so sorry!"

I realize that I'm babbling to cover Erik's silence. The shock of my unfortunate encounter catches up with me and I begin to do the one thing I despise the most...

I begin to cry.


	58. What a Fool This Mortal Be!

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Fifty-Eight – What a Fool This Mortal Be**

My wife weeps. The front of my shirt soaked with her tears. My eyes, on the other hand, remain bone dry. Not a hint of moisture threatens to spill from the twin wastelands of my orbs. My arms wrap possessively around her body of their own volition and pull her back tightly to my chest. Her hands feebly grasp for mine and as she finds them, she clutches them tightly. Watching her tears stream down her face, I feel detached from her. In fact, I feel nothing at all, which frightens the hell out of me. Hmm … well, that's a start. I feel fear. I note that this is the first time I have ever held her and felt absolutely nothing. My embrace stiff. My words trapped within the prison of my past. It seems that I gaze at her across an ever-widening chasm. I see her mouth move and know she speaks, but her words scatter and blow away on the wind.

Suddenly, two of the words she speaks become discernable to me in the midst of the maelstrom of confusion. Two simple words reach my ears. Two simple words that change everything.

"I'm sorry!"

The stiffness begins to melt from my body. My fingers intertwine with hers.

"I am so sorry, Erik!"

Her words are quiet, despairing, filled with pain, which cuts me to our soul. Knowing that I am the cause of her pain breaks my heart. And as it breaks, I find a block of ice among the pieces of my broken heart. I pause to examine this frozen piece and as I touch it, I release memories of long ago. Memories of … Madeline. I push them to the side, for now. I must answer for my coldness to Christine. I must comfort her. She, not I, brutalized. She, not I, is the victim. I shake my head, disgusted with myself. My coldness to her worse than the actions of that man. My hand cups her chin and tilts her face, so I may look into her eyes.

"Oh, my beloved wife! Ma chère cœur! _You_ are sorry? No! No! _NO!_ Christine, please? Christine, you must listen to me. You did nothing wrong. I know you love me. It is I who am sorry. I saw what kind of man he is. You made it very clear that you did not like or trust him. When he left so abruptly right after you, I should have known he was up to no good! I should have warned you that he had left us. I should have been there for you. No, I was too involved in the music. Do not cry my beloved! I do not blame you. You did nothing wrong."

She sniffles, pulls back from me so she can angrily dab at her tears with the back of her hand.

"I hate it when I cry!" She mutters crossly.

"As do I. As do I." I gently pull her to me and place a kiss on her cheek.

We stand there locked in a comforting embrace as the golden hour fades around us into the velvet of evening.

"A thought occurs to me. Could my unreasonable behavior be the result of my recent acquisition of the 1881 soul fragment? His insecurities would not allow him to believe in your love."

She carefully considers my words and gives me a small nod.

"Yes, that is possible. It does seem to fit his personality more than yours. There is one thing that confuses me."

"What?"

"How did I know you would react that way? That's not me! I've felt strange ever since those two men walked into Léo's office. It's fading now, but still there. Almost as if … well … oh … as if I were someone else." She finishes somewhat lamely shaking her head.

"I don't know if I like the sound of that at all. No, not at all. I almost forgot that you don't really belong in this time. And, now you find another me here? What if there is another you here? Or, and I am not sure I am wording this correctly, what if there is someone who wants to be here through you?"

"All good questions, my love. Unfortunately, they are questions I cannot answer. I wish there were a book or a person we could consult, but I don't even know where to begin."

"Well, we need to return to Leo's office and take our leave. I will need a moment alone with Léo and Edmond. I must inform them of this incident. They might be able to suggest a course of action regarding M. Gille."

"All right, Erik, but please do not take too long. I would like to leave as soon as possible. Also, I find that I am quite hungry. I would like to eat before going to the opera. If that's okay with you?"

"Yes, beloved, we both need something to eat."


	59. Overture

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Fifty-Nine – Overture**

Taking a deep breath, I step from the carriage and turn to assist my lovely wife. She is truly a stunning sight and I cannot help but feel a wave of relief wash over me as I revel in all of the wonderful things she makes me feel. Love, pride, lust, happiness, contentment, joy … I feel those and I am certain there are other emotions mixed in with those as well. She places her gloved hand in mine. Her teal cloak sparkles in the light of the gas torches. She takes her place at my side and slips her arm through mine.

"Ready, beloved?"

She gives me a small nod and a slight upward curl of her lips.

We enter through the carriage pavilion and walk along a hallway lined with numerous ticket offices. At the end of the hall, we can turn right or continue straight ahead. I lead Christine to the right.

"Where does that lead?"

"That leads to a circular vestibule which is directly below the auditorium. There are two small staircases, which lead up to the entrances for the auditorium floor seats. Also, the vestibule is where servants wait for their masters and mistresses during the opera."

The hall suddenly opens into the main lobby of the opera house. I hear Christine's involuntary gasp of awed surprise.

"Oh my! Erik, it is magnificent! I can hardly believe it! I've never seen anything like it."

I am pleased that she finds it so breathtaking.

"Are you aware that I had a hand in the design of this place?"

"You did?" I watch her as she takes in the sights about her. She turns to me, her eyes sparkle brightly. "I am not in the least bit surprised. The overall perfection speaks most eloquently of your hand, my husband." She gives my arm a gentle and affectionate squeeze.

We arrive at the bottom of the Grand Escalier and simply stand for a moment, allowing our eyes to absorb the immensity and detail of the huge stairway. It is at this moment that the realization, which has been lurking in the back of my mind, comes to the fore, the last time I walked this staircase was the night of the performance of _"Don Juan Triumphant."_ The night Raoul's henchman had rigged the chandelier to fall and set the building on fire.

"The restoration work is incredible. It appears as if it had never burned. I must admit I had been skeptical of what I would find here, but I am very relieved to admit that the restoration crews were superb craftsmen. The building appears virtually identical to the one I hold in my memory.

"Shall we, ma chère cœur?"

"Indeed, my dearest husband. You are aware that I have no idea what opera is being performed tonight, don't you?"

"I was wondering if you'd ever ask."

She gives the smallest of giggles. "You know I would be happy to see any opera with you."

Suddenly, words enter my head.

""_Parsifal"_ and _"The Ring Cycle"_ by Richard Wagner?"

She stops and turns to me, her eyes narrow and a brow rises. "Yes?"

"Why do you dislike him so much? I would have thought the mythological aspects of his work would please you."

"If I was blissfully ignorant of the carnage his works inspired, yes, I probably would. However, his works inspired or … no, validated. Yes, his works validated the ideas of Adolf Hitler's Third Reich. Hitler used Wagner's own prejudices to validate Germanic racial superiority. They named the conflict, which encompassed these issues, "World War II." It took place before I was born, but its effects continue to haunt all good people." She sighs and shakes her head as she lowers her gaze to the stairs. A sad smile creeps to her mouth. "Dearest, what is the name of tonight's opera?"

"Tonight's performance is _"Roméo et Juliette"_ by Charles Gounod. It is an excellent score. I much prefer it to Vincenzo Bellini's _"I Capuleti e i Montecchi"_ _(The Capulets and the Montagues.)_ I found that composition strayed too far from Shakespeare's work. Can you believe that man used Italian sources?"

I meet her eyes and find her biting her lip not out of nervousness, but to keep herself from laughing. As she sees the look of confusion on my face, she loses her struggle to contain her mirth.

"Ha!"

"Yes? And that means?"

"Erik … maiden name of Schiavonne? Father's name is Rocco. Brother's name is Luigi. Need I say more? _Dalle fonti italiane?_ (From Italian sources?) Perhaps, I might agree with Bellini and believe the Italian sources to be more authentic than dry old Will Shakespeare."

"Christine!"

And then I understand why she is amused and realize that she is gently teasing me.

"Get a grip, Erik. I'm just trying to keep it light. I have a feeling tonight is going to be emotionally draining."

"Anything specific you wish to tell me?"

"I wish. As soon as I figure it out, you'll be the first to know."

"Very well."

Arriving at our box's level we leave the staircase, an attendant immediately appears asking if he can assist us. I hand him our tickets. He glances at them for a moment.

"Monsieur. Mademoiselle. Follow me please."

Silently, we follow the usher to our box. The man opens the door and steps back to allow us to enter the box. He assists Christine in the removal of her cloak and hangs it on the coat rack in the corner of the box. The man turns. I watch as his eyes take in the sight of Christine's uncloaked form. His body goes completely still and stiff. His mouth drops open as he stares at her in dumbfounded wonder. I clear my throat and I must give the man credit, he quickly regains use of his senses and mutters something under his breath as he beats a hasty retreat from the box. The door clicks closed.

"Being here is so strange. You are aware this is the infamous Box 5?"

"I thought it might be, but I wasn't sure."

"Yes, this is my box and this is the first time that I ever paid to see an opera here. I am most curious about the current managers and find myself wondering if the Opera Ghost would approve of their production standards. I suppose we will discover the answers very soon. You are being very quiet tonight, beloved. Is everything all right?"

"Yes, I am fine. Well, just the slightest of headaches, but I took something for it and hope it will go away …." Her voice trails off mid-sentence. Her entire body whips around to face me and her hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide.

"What?" I begin almost shouting.

"_**HE'S HERE!"**_


	60. Act One

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Sixty – Act One**

Christine immediately leaps to her feet, knocking over the chair in which she had been sitting. Her hand still tightly gripping my forearm as she turns. I hear her breath catch in her throat and she instinctively presses herself close to me. I gently pry her hand from my arm and then wrap my arm protectively about her.

I murmur, "Ma chère, everything will be all right."

Some of the tension leaves her body, but her attention remains fixed on the entry door of our box. Slipping my foot under the back of the chair, I hook it, toss it up and catch it with my free hand, setting it back in its place. As I hear the doorknob rattle, I swiftly reach into my suit coat and withdraw my security.

Muffled voices are barely audible just outside our box and I give Christine a little shake.

"Beloved! Calm yourself! We must not give ourselves away to anyone. We are Erik and Christine de Mornay, but tonight we are Erik de Mornay and his ward, Christine Maire. I know you can do this … I have faith in you to do this!"

My words finally reach her. She pulls away from me and I release what would be perceived as my inappropriate hold on her waist. She looks into my eyes, steps away from me and takes her seat.

"Sorry about that. I just feel so … funky. I don't know what's going on inside my head, but whoever this is it sure isn't me. I feel like a damsel in distress and it's really starting to piss me off! Oh! By the way, Erik, dearest, you should sit." She smirks.

I take my seat just as the door is flung open.

"Please! Monsieur! This box is occupied! You cannot just go …." A strained, yet quiet voice entreats.

"DO YOU THINK I CARE! THIS BOX IS MINE!" A man's petulant and angry voice cuts off the distraught usher.

Christine and I turn to see a hooded silhouette figure standing in the doorway. The figure rushes into the box and sweeps around to stand in front of us. I raise my eyes to look beneath the hood at the man standing before us.

I think. _"Time has not been kind to him. Has it my beloved?"_

She returns. _"No, it is not time, but the meanness of his soul which has devoured his features."_

I stand and find that I am now several inches taller than he is.

"Monsieur, who are you? And, why do you create a scene by rudely intruding on our evening?"

The stooped man throws back his hood and glares up at me and then down at Christine.

"I am Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. By what right do you sit here in my private box?"

His manner is haughty and the look in his eyes as they slide over Christine's seated form is insolent and appraising.

"_Amazing! He still believes he can have any woman he wishes!"_

"_Yes, dearest. He does believe that, but not because he thinks he is good looking. He is of noble birth and has been conditioned to believe he can have whatever he wants as a part of his birthright. In that single glance, he determined me to be common and therefore obtainable._

This man's charm once lay in his boyish good looks. The intervening years robbed him of charm as his looks faded and I now face a twisted shell of the man I knew. A feeling of deep sorrow washes over me as I picture the other Christine with this man. I push my feelings to the side for the moment. I cannot allow myself to be distracted while he is here.

A thought of Christine's comes into my mind. _"Your places are now reversed. You are the handsome young man and he is the deformed monster! Just making a comment based on his perceptions of you, not on how I ever perceived you. Capisce?"_

Her words are true. His looks are no more. His balding pate bears countless liver spots, which have a ring of short wispy clumps of dirty-blonde hair. His blue eyes no longer sparkle with the vigor of youth, no longer hold any beguiling charm. His eyes are dull, red-lined pits. His eyes look up and meet mine. I am pleasantly surprised to find no hint of recognition in his eyes. The only thing I see in those eyes and that sallow, lined face, is a childish peevishness at not having his way.

Folding my arms across my chest, I calmly and intently allow myself to stare at him. I hold his gaze without speaking and then tilt my head slightly.

"Monsieur, I assure you I arranged for the use of this box tonight. There is no mistake. If you had but been the slightest bit polite, I may have extended you an invitation to share the box with my ward and I, but I think it best if you simply withdraw." I speak simply and do not allow any of my voice's musical qualities to flavor my inflection.

My words seem to dumbfound him for a few moments, but the spoiled and pampered fop does not know when to quit.

"I am Vicomte Raoul de Chagny and I demand you leave my box!"

I pause.

"Well, Monsieur le Vicomte, I am Comte Erik de Mornay and I have no intention of leaving this box. Now, must I fetch a gendarme or will you peaceably remove your offensive presence from my sight?"

"_A king beats a jack any day. I do believe he looks as if he is going to pop a gasket! What an interesting shade of purple!"_ Christine's thoughts come into my mind.

Her words cause me to smile involuntarily, which only further serves to infuriate the already irate man. He sputters angry expletives and I am truly shocked when he stomps his foot in a fit of pique. His action prompting the same reaction from both Christine and me … we begin to laugh.

"You have not heard the last of this! I am a patron of this opera house! I will have you evicted from this box! Mark my words!"

With those words, the spoiled fop marches from our box.

Meanwhile, the overture begins to play ….

* * *

**FYI: MY RAOUL WAS 33 WHEN HE BECAME THE NEW PATRON OF THE OPERA POPULAIRE UNDER THE MANAGERS FIRMIN AND ANDRE, SO HE IS "NOW" 44 AND (UNLIKE DORIAN GRAY) LOOKS EVERY DAY, AND THEN SOME, OF HIS YEARS! CHRISTINE DAAE-de CHAGNY WAS 16 AND IS "NOW" 27...  
**

* * *


	61. Act Two, Scene Two

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Sixty-One – Act Two - Scene Two**

"Monsieur le Vicomte has not made good on his threat. Do you think he has forgotten about us, beloved?" I use a soft voice so as not to disturb anyone during the performance.

Christine surprises me by shushing me.

"This is my favorite part."

Her words and rapt attention to the stage give me a small pang of jealousy, which quickly turns to one of understanding … the balcony scene, but of course!

"What woman wouldn't want a man to risk everything just to be able to declare his love and tell her how incomparable her beauty is? Of course, I can do without all of the angst and death, but can't have everything I suppose. No drama! No passion! No opera!"

She smiles a little too sadly for my comfort, so after making certain no one is observing us, I raise her hand and give it a furtive kiss.

Her words stir a strangeness within my heart. I usually am adept at expressing my feelings through music, but suddenly I feel words flowing through me. Words I must speak to her. Words that I know she will hear and understand to the depths of her soul. I part my lips to give passage to the words and out they quietly spill.

"My dearest wife, I will love you with a fervor that will leave you breathless when we return to the hotel tonight. Our lovemaking shall be wild and arduous. I shall take you on the wings of passion to soar closer to the heavens than any mere mortal has dared to go before. I shall defy the gods to bring you such ecstasy that Eros himself shall be in awe of the bliss we share. There is nothing I would not do for you, my dearest heart. I am but a humble man devoted to a woman who is more beautiful than Aphrodite, younger than Hebe, wiser than Pallas Athena, more of a wild thing than Artemis and more a queen of the gods than Hera. My love for you shall endure all. I hope to spend my last breath upon your lips and even then, I shall still leave this world desiring more of you!"

During my declaration Christine's attention left the stage and centered on me. I watch her lovely face become flushed with a suffuse glow as she listens intently. Her eyes sparkle with a rapturous joy and her body begins to radiate an inner heat.

"Erik!" She gasps as I finish. "This moment shall remain in my heart for all time. My dearest one, my husband, I love you! Only you forever more! Your words kindle a madness within me and were I to let loose my control, I would beg you to take me here and now. Never before in my life have I felt such an overwhelming demand to give myself over to wanton desire. If we are to act in a decorous manner, you must be the one to reign in this need of mine and hold it in check until a more prudent time. I cannot contain myself. I do not wish to restrain myself!" Her eyes are wild and glassy. Her breathing husky and ragged.

♥♥♥♂♀♥♥♥

I open my eyes as consciousness slowly returns and find myself in bed. The intricate details of the red and gold ceiling dazzle my eyes. Even now I can hardly believe the madness that had taken hold of Christine and me last night. Our sudden departure from the opera had most likely set tongues wagging, but I know that was better than the alternative … taking her there in the box. I reach out to touch my wife and gently shake her shoulder to awaken her. She groans and suddenly bolts upright. Concerned, I turn to look at her, but she is facing away from me and seems to be staring straight ahead.

"Ma chère …." I begin.

My words catch and die in my throat as she curls into a fetal ball and begins to rock back and forth. I cannot understand her words as the wracking sobs slur them into mumbles. I watch in horror as her body convulses. Terrified, I race around the bed and kneel on the floor next to the bed. I gently brush her hair away from her face … her hair … is a mass of curls … and chestnut brown!

"What the hell?"

I place my hand under her chin and lift her face. She looks up into my eyes.

"No! This cannot be!"

My hand recoils from her chin as if burned and the room begins to spin. I shake my head to clear it and take a deep breath. Once more, I approach the figure on the bed.

"Christine?"

The woman raises her eyes to meet mine, but instead of the hazel-green eyes with golden-brown ring, I look into eyes of dark chocolate brown. My mind reaches out to my wife, but she is not there. Only a dark empty void. I look into the woman's tear-filled eyes as she gazes deeply into mine. Her hand reaches to touch the right side of my face.

"My poor, poor Erik."

As her hand caresses my cheek, I suddenly know.

"_The dream is finished and I am a monster once more."_


	62. Intermission

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Sixty-Two – Intermission**

"My poor, poor Erik." She croons.

As her hand caresses my cheek, I suddenly know.

The dream is finished and I am a monster once more.

I sit in loneliness. Surrounded by emptiness. What is this hollow pain in my chest? Why do I cry? Did I expect a freak to find love? A loathsome gargoyle lurking in the dark. Who is this kneeling before me? Who is she who holds her hand to my face? When will she catch her breath to scream? What is this feeling of loss, which brings such a pain that nibbles it away at my very heart? I long for—someone—in quiet despair. My life one of utter solitude and regret.

**_"Look! He does not believe! What became of the man that declared his love for his wife would endure all? His words lay a challenge before the gods and he comes up very short when tested. What of their passion, their ardor, their bliss, their soul? His belief dies so quickly … is true love that easy to forget? Nay! Deep within the lowest confines of his mind, he believes he never deserved her! Such a pity! Such a pity! I win!"_**

"Erik! Erik! I will wear your ring!" The woman calls seductively.

"NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! Where is my wife? Where is my Christine? That creature lying there on the bed is false! It is not my wife and it is not Christine de Chagny. It isn't even Christine Daae. It is not real!"

"Oh! My poor, poor Erik! Come with me or the mob will kill you. You must hurry, Erik. There isn't much time! Please?" She implores as she lifts her tear-streaked face to me.

"NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! I will not listen! You are not real! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!"

"Erik, come with me. I shall be your living bride. I am willing to lie with you each night and open the comfort of my body to you. Erik?" The specter whispers.

"NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! I will not listen! You are not real! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! Where is my wife? Where is my Christine? I must have my wife, Christine!"

"Erik … I am Christine. Come take me!" She spins and laughs about the room.

"No. You are not my wife. I know my wife! I love my wife! You are not her! Together we are one soul! Please? Christine …."

_**"No. I think not. You do not win. It seems he does remember her. He does love her and he does believe! You lose! Now put her back! He does indeed believe. The two of them may proceed."**_

_**"But, that's not fair! He almost forgot!"**_

_**"It may not be fair, but that's just the way it is …."**_

* * *

**REMEMBER THE "VOICE" FROM THE PROLOGUE? WELL, NOW THERE ARE "VOICES" ...

* * *

**


	63. Scene Two, Redeux

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Sixty-Three – Scene Two Redeux**

As our laughter subsides, I sigh.

"What a waste of a life."

Christine meets my eyes, "You have no idea …."

I raise an eyebrow in question.

She responds by mouthing, "After …."

She returns her attention to the stage below. As I am truly unimpressed with this production of Romeo and Juliet, my mind begins to wander. I make mental notes about each dancer's strengths and weaknesses, about the skill of each musician, about the quality of the costumes, about the stage design, about the abilities of the stagehands, about … well, about everything.

"_I can see I am going to be extremely busy! This should prove to be quite interesting and entertaining (I have never been able to resist terrorizing those damn little ballet rats – they make it just too easy,) as I no longer need to hide behind my infamous notes to the managers. If our patronage is accepted … well, tomorrow will tell that tale."_

My attention returns to the performance on the stage and I am quite pleased to discover that we are in the final moments of the opera. I turn to observe my beloved as she sits with tears streaming down her lovely cheeks, completely absorbed by the tale playing itself out on the stage below.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

"**PRINCE:  
**We still have known thee for a holy man. Where's Romeo's man? What can he say in this?

**BALTHASAR:  
**I brought my master news of Juliet's death and then in post he came from Mantua to this same place, to this same monument. This letter he early bid me give his father and threatened me with death, going in the vault, I departed not and left him there.

**PRINCE:  
**Give me the letter. I will look on it. Where is the county's page that raised the watch? Sirrah, what made your master in this place?

**PAGE:  
**He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave and bid me stand aloof, and so I did. Anon comes one with light to open the tomb and by and by my master drew on him and then I ran away to call the watch.

**PRINCE:  
**This letter doth make good the friar's words, their course of love, the tidings of her death and here he writes that he did buy a poison of a poor 'pothecary and therewithal came to this vault to die and lie with Juliet. Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague! See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate that heaven finds means to kill your joys with love. And I for winking at your discords too have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd.

**CAPULET:  
**O! Brother Montague, give me thy hand! This is my daughter's jointure for no more can I demand.

**MONTAGUE:  
**But I can give thee more for I will raise her statue in pure gold that while Verona by that name is known, there shall no figure at such rate be set as that of true and faithful Juliet.

**CAPULET:  
**As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie poor sacrifices of our enmity!

**PRINCE:  
**A glooming peace this morning with it brings the sun, for sorrow, will not show his head. Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things. Some shall be pardon'd and some punished. For never was a story of more woe than this of poor Juliet and of her Romeo.

**_All Exit_"**

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

The audience apparently appreciates tonight's performance for as the players leave the stage, they stand and heartily applaud. The cast makes three curtain calls to a thundering ovation. Finally, the applause dies and we are now free to exit our box and join the mass exodus from the theater. As we attempt to make our way to our carriage, a thought occurs.

"Beloved, Monsieur le Vicomte did not make good on his threat. Do you think he has forgotten about us?" I use a soft voice, as this is the type of gossip we do not wish spread.

Christine surprises me by shushing me.

"_Dearest, let us wait until we are in the carriage before we speak of such things. Also, now may be another one of those perfect opportunities to spread gossip. Maybe, a few well placed words about the reason Christine did not accompany Raoul to the opera tonight? I think the word, "beating," should be prominent in the gossip, as we should go on the offensive. We do not want him to begin rumors of her running off with another man. We want to maintain the moral high ground."_

"_As you wish ma chèr coeur."_

I concede the wisdom of suggestions and spend the next thirty minutes being bumped and jostled by complete strangers! I try to shield Christine as best as I can and she returns the favor by sheltering my mind inside our cottage.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

"Finally!" I groan.

I twirl my cape off my shoulders and fling it over the back of the nearest arm chair. Christine has a similar reaction as she removes her cloak and runs through the open connecting door into her suite as she calls Miriam. I chuckle. Corsets!

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

We spend the next three quarters of an hour divesting ourselves of our opera finery and preparing for bed. I feel fortunate in being a man as I am able to accomplish this task much quicker than Christine can. The wait is definitely a small price to pay when I am treated to the ethereal beauty of her presence as she sweeps into my room.

"Would my wife care to join with me …." I clear my throat then continue. "Join me in the bedroom?"

"Your wife most certainly would!"

She threads her arm through mine, hooking me to her side. The curves of each of our bodies a perfect compliment to the other's curves. We settle ourselves on the bed.

"All right, beloved. Seeing as you have been almost bursting to tell me something regarding Raoul all evening, I think it is time to enlighten me."

"Erik, we may not have to … what I mean is …. Nuts! I really wanted to just hate him!"

I feel my entire being still and stiff.

"And you are unable to do this for what reason?"

"Dearest, Raoul le Vicomte de Chagny is dying!"


	64. Time Waits,,,

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Sixty-Four – Time Waits**

"He's dying." I repeat.

The words feel strange as they roll off my tongue and breeze through my lips. These words spoken about the man, who created Christine Daae's eleven year, hell-on-earth and thought himself the bane of my existence, soon will be no more.

"How?"

I feel her body tense and for the briefest instant, I begin to respond. My response is more a reflex, but she senses it all the same. Shame colors my cheeks as I realize she simply meant to turn her head to look back at me.

"Erik?" There is a surprised hurt in her eyes as she turns to me. I find it difficult to meet her gaze as my unreasonable jealousy dishonors our love.

"I am such an ass! You've done nothing, ma chère cœur. My own insecurities … hmm … I believe you call it, "emotional baggage." Monsieur le Vicomte brings out the absolute worst in me. Even looking as he does now, I still see a smug, pompous, arrogant, conceited little prick that cares not a whit for anything or anyone other than himself. He still needs to hold his hand at the level of his eyes, as I would like to toss a bit of cat gut around his neck and pull … real hard …."

Pausing, I lean into her and lower my head to breathe in the wondrous scent of her. My nose twitches as one of her soft curls tickles. She smells of night-blooming jasmine and honeysuckle. The tension leaves me.

"Better now?" She inquires of me.

"Much. So, what is wrong with him?"

"He has cancer."

"Cancer? How can you tell?" My thoughts drift towards some type of empathic impression, so her response surprises me.

"Why, it is visible for all the world to see, dearest. Although, I suppose not many would recognize it. I heard your thought about it, so I suppose what you thought is what most people would think."

"Christine …."

"You know those "liver spots" on the top of his head? Well, they are not "liver spots." They are a type of skin cancer called, "melanoma" which is a highly malignant type of skin cancer that arises in melanocytes, the cells that produce pigment. Melanoma is the most serious form of skin cancer. Judging from the ulcerated appearance and size of the tumors, his prognosis is not good. The treatment in my world is surgery to excise the tumors and set a course of immunotherapy. If the cancer cells have spread into his lymph nodes, well … surgery is recommended to excise the tumors and the affected lymph nodes, followed by immunotherapy. In the worst case scenario, the cancer cells have spread to the lymph nodes, other organs in the body or areas far from the original site of the tumor. This is called metastatic melanoma. The tumors and lymph nodes are surgically removed and followed by radiation therapy, chemotherapy or immunotherapy as decided by the patient's oncologist. Once melanoma has spread to other parts of the body beyond the skin, it is difficult to treat and considering the level of medical advancement right now, he doesn't really have a chance …." Her voice trails off and then resumes, "Of course, this is just my humble, lay-person opinion."

"Does he know?"

Her eyes flash and she trembles. "I do not wish to open my mind to him. I have no wish to protect myself from psychic backwash. He is not worth it." We lie silent before she jokingly asks me. "So, what have the gossip rags got to say?"

I ignore her comment and blurt out what I've wanted to say all day. "Christine, when are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

She rolls away from me and returns so our bodies lie face-to-face. I take her hands in mine and hold them to my chest.

"What? Is it that bad?"

She gazes deep into my eyes then her eyes become unfocused and blank and after a few unsettling moments, come back to me.

"I don't know what's wrong. I can feel something is wrong, really wrong, but I have absolutely no idea what it is." Her eyes drift away and back again. She shakes her head. "I take that back. That's not entirely true. The feeling didn't start until we got to Paris … no, that's not right either. The feeling began just after we left the registration desk. Speaking for myself, I noticed that I behaved in ways I thought were extremely uncharacteristic. I saw myself doing them, knew I was doing them but was helpless to stop myself. It makes me very worried, but it also makes me furious! I've spent my whole life having to feel other people's emotions and now someone or something is forcing me to react with someone else's emotions? I do not think so! This is my body! This is my mind! I won't give either up without a fight, but I don't know whom to fight. I'm frightened, Erik. My mind is the one thing that makes me unique from everyone else and I don't want to lose it, but I can't fight what I don't know."

She looks at me intently, waiting.

"Yes! Yes! It has happened to me twice. Instead of feeling like a stranger was turned loose in my head, I feel as if I had been turned loose. I didn't like it either time. The first time lasted longer than the second time, but both times the emotions were not loving ones, but one of anger and jealousy. I do not wish to experience it ever again. It almost felt as if someone dead were inside me. Not pleasant at all."

"Well, at least we're talking about it. I was going to wait until I could put my finger on it, but I am relieved that you made me face up to it! As long as we're together, we'll be all right."

I pull Christine close to me, lean down and gently kiss her lips. All too soon, the passion burns between us and we make passionate, yet delicate love to one another. Wrapping myself about my wife, I once again appreciate how she smells of jasmine and honeysuckle and contentedly slip into sleep.


	65. ,,,For No One

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Sixty-Five – . . . For No One**

"_I am dreaming."_

I run through dark as I frantically seek egress.

"_I hope I am dreaming."_

With my hands thrust before me, I seek the comforting touch of anything. Anything, but this never ending darkness.

"_Please, let me be dreaming."_

At long last, my hands feel something other than thin air. Running my hands along the surface, I come away with the impression that it may be a rug, but it hangs from an unseen wall.

"_A tapestry, perhaps?"_

I tug on it and it slides to the ground. Quickly, I raise my eyes and gaze upon the sight revealed by the removal of the tapestry. I see two girls, one with auburn hair, one with chestnut mane. The girls hold hands and run across a hillside full of wild flowers. They frolic and laugh, pausing occasionally to admire a flower here, a butterfly there. As they reach the crest of the hill the girls turn and wave, they beckon me to join them. I step forward and a sudden gasp escapes my lips, as I bang my head into the cold hard surface before me. Rubbing my forehead, I realize that I stand before a mirror. I return my attention to the girls just as they disappear from sight. I call out to them, but no sound escapes my mouth. I press against the cold glass, but the mirror grants me no passage to join the girls. I turn from the mirror, but … an invisible and irresistible force takes hold of me and turns me towards the mirror once more.

"_No! That is NOT me! You lie!"_

I pound my fists into the reflection of my face. A face, which cannot … no, must not be mine!

"_I am NOT that man! Am I? Who am I?"_

I look down at my body and am relieved to find that both the form of my body and the clothes I wear do not match those of the man in the mirror. Relieved, I look into the mirror once more. This time I find a woman staring back at me. Her dark chocolate brown eyes seem infinitely sad. She wears a hooded cape of softest pink. I catch a glimpse of chestnut curls within the folds of her hood.

"_I am …. No, not she. No, I know I am not this woman. Mirror, I command thee do not lie to me! Please show me the truth. Who am I?"_

Once more, I gaze into the mirror and find a mass of familiar people returning my look.

"_No! Who am I? Hey! Will somebody wake me the hell up?"_

My body engulfed in a wave of weariness to strong for me to resist, I drop to my knees and bury my face in my hands.

"_No one can awaken me. I have to exist in order to awake. I am no one. I would have to be real. I would have to be a person. I would have to have feelings of my own, but I do not. I am a chameleon and the chameleon feels nothing. The chameleon feels … for no one."_

◊◄▬►◊◄▬►◊◄▬►◊◄▬►◊

My eyes fly open, but the rest of my body feels unnaturally still. I automatically repress my emotional response to the dream. Perhaps, it is my confusion over how I am supposed to feel that allows me to realize something about myself.

"_I am a chameleon."_ The words spoken within the confines of my dream echo inside my head.

"_A chameleon?"_ I think.

I discover I cannot deny this conclusion after I carefully consider the facts of my life. My life is one spent taking on the hues of those around me, instead of allowing myself to feel. My entire life spent focused on and dealing with my empathic abilities. Instead of granting myself permission to show my feelings, I suppress them. I do not believe I have purposefully done this, but a part of me knew. Yes, some part of me had to be aware for on our wedding night I had opened the door of my innermost sanctuary and allowed Erik to enter. I shared with him all of my secrets. For one night I held nothing back … and then … and then … what did I do? Closing my eyes, I allow that beautiful night to replay within the confines of my mind. I see myself proudly and willingly throwing open my innermost door to share myself completely with Erik. I continue to watch and find that with the dawn, I close the door. My mind tells me that I closed the door to protect my husband. After some very serious reflection, I determine that I just may be telling the truth. Chances are that I am not lying to myself, but it does not help me feel any better. Whether or not I had a good reason, I had closed the door against my husband, my Erik … at least this time I did not lock it.

"_Why do I do this? I truly do not know. If I am as smart as they say I am, why couldn't I make Raoul hear my words? Wait just one minute … what did I just say? I just said, "Raoul." Why in the hell would I say that? Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Wait! I said, "Why couldn't I make Raoul hear my words?" I know only one person who might say something of that nature. I think we need to get her here as soon as possible. She is the only one that I can talk to about this. Shit! I said it myself just last night! How's that for my subconscious trying to tell me something? Psychic backwash! I need to go home. I have no idea how to fix this. Will this get worse? I have to tell Erik as it's affecting him as well. Guess some of the blackness found a home in my mind. I wonder … does that mean that Christine is discovering little bits of me in her personality? Oh, I can live with this if I could get Christine to go and kick Raoul's ass. I would pay good money for a front row seat in that show! Oh, yes! Mom, I'm making lemonade again! Yep, life just hit me with a big bag of lemons. So I'm gonna roll up my sleeves and get to makin' some lemonade! Oh, Christine, don't forget that once you've taken care of the backwash, you have to take care of the chameleon."_

I lie in bed and continue to think about my life as I await the dawn and wait for Erik to awaken. I come to understand that the love I shared with my second husband came not from me, but from him. I used his feelings, used his love for me as my own.

I wonder, _"How much of my life has been influenced or even decided using the feelings of those around me? How can I be certain that anything I feel is mine? Do I even know how to feel?"_

Thoughts ebb and flow through my mind like the sea swirling about after a storm. All too soon, I find myself overrun with one seemingly random thought after another…. Suddenly, everything becomes still and calm.

"_Epiphany! I do feel my own emotions. I am afraid. I am afraid of losing Erik, afraid of losing my child and completely stressed out! Never thought that being stressed out and afraid would make me happy, but it has. Yes, that's another one. I feel hope."_


	66. Dear Cousin

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Sixty-Six – Dearest Cousin**

Greetings, My Dearest Cousin!

I hope this letter finds you and yours quite well. I pray for the speedy recovery of your strength and hope you have been enjoying visiting with Madame, Trystin and Jean-Paul. Please convey my sincerest best wishes to Madame and Jean-Paul. If you would do me the greatest favor and give Trystin a hug and kiss from me, I would be forever in your debt. Tell her I miss her every moment I am away and hope to see her soon.

I instructed the messenger bearing this letter to wait for your reply. Please give Trystin the letter I have written for her, which I am sure you found upon opening this letter. Let her know that her mom needs to hear from her and a letter from her would help make my heart ache a little less. From the moment of her birth, I have not left her more than one or two days at a time. I find this separation a truly trying experience for me and eagerly await the day we are reunited. The only consolation I have is the knowledge that you, Madame and Jean-Paul are watching over my little angel.

Our mutual friend and I arrived in Paris the day before yesterday. Paris! What a city! It is truly a beautiful place! The streets are broad and lined with smooth cobbles. It is a pleasure walking along the broad boulevards, stopping sometimes to dine in a small sidewalk café. I love sitting there and watching as the world strolls by me.

I have decided that I want to walk across every bridge that spans La Seine and see as many fountains as I am able. The variety of architectural styles from bridge to bridge and fountain to fountain never ceases to amaze me. So far, I believe that Pont Neuf and Le Pont Louis-Philippe are my favorite bridges. I am withholding judgment in regards to the fountains and I can only say that time will tell in regard to my favorite fountain. I believe the true reason I have not visited as many fountains is that I wish to take Trystin with me. I am certain she will love them as much as I will, so I wait so we can share the wonder of them together.

Yesterday, we kept our appointment with the managers of the Opera Populaire. Our meeting was most productive. Messieurs Erickson and Donato are actually intelligent individuals that place a premium on the excellence of each opera they host upon their stage. Our friend (although he would most likely deny it) enjoyed speaking, negotiating and coming to terms with them. I am pleased to inform you of the results of yesterday's meeting: we are the contracted producers of a new opera scored by Léo Delibes named, "Lakmé." The scheduling of audition dates may make it necessary for you to come to Paris soon, but do not worry, Cousin, it will not be too soon. Who knows? I will attempt to schedule auditions after the wedding so you may return with us to Paris after our friend and I marry. I intend to audition for the part of Mallika and I really am looking forward to both hearing you sing and singing with you.

There is news of which I must inform you and I am uncertain how to tell you. First, please go find Madame Giry and have her with you before you read the rest of this letter. I shall now continue this letter on another sheet of parchment and you, dearest Cousin, go find Madame!

◊♦◊♥◊♦◊

Christine,

It is my sincerest wish that you have paid heed to my request and you now have Madame with you. Please sit down. I am certain by this time you are feeling quite annoyed with me and fear the bad news I bear. Well, dear, I shall delay no longer and simply say it…Raoul is very ill and I am certain his illness is mortal. I do not know if he is even aware of his illness. He has cancer. The spots on his scalp are a type of skin cancer called, "melanoma."

We saw him when we went to the opera the night before last. As you know of our friend's fondness for Box 5, I am sure you will not be surprised to learn that it was in Box 5 where we encountered Raoul. Our friend had somehow secured the use of Box 5 for our night out at the opera. Raoul came to the box and made something of a scene. I was actually very surprised. I had expected him to act in a more dignified manner, especially in front of strangers. It was quite horrible. Well, actually, the sight of Raoul and his actions were both equally horrible in their own ways. You would have been so proud and surprised at the grace with which our friend handled Raoul's assault on us. He maintained his composure while at the same time his words put Raoul in his place without lowering himself to Raoul's level.

Anyway, I believe that our friend intends to make some inquiries and I thought that knowing the name of Raoul's personal physician would be very helpful in this. If you could write back to me with his name, I would be extremely appreciative. In fact, please include any information that you think may be helpful in regards to persons with whom Raoul has business dealings, social clubs, mistresses, friends, etc. It is entirely possible that your participation in the opera will happen without having any interference from Raoul…. Only time will tell if we will be this lucky.

◊♦◊♥◊♦◊

Suddenly, the woman writing the letter freezes. Her head lifts and her eyes glaze, as she appears lost in thought gazing out the window of her suite.

"_Who am I? Where am I?"_

Suddenly aware of the writing tool in her hand, the woman considers.

"_Why am I writing a letter? To whom am I writing this letter? This is just too confusing!"_

The woman lowers her head to the desktop and rests her forehead on her folded arms. After a moment, she begins to cry quietly. She continues to cry for several desperate minutes before lifting her head to the sky in silent supplication.

"_I am just so tired of being the strong one. Cannot someone take care of me for once in my life?"_

Returning her head to the desktop, the woman's tears begin to flow once more. She cries until she has no more tears left to shed. Her cries recede into hiccupping sobs and then into the agitated and restless mutterings of her discordant slumber.

◊♦◊♥◊♦◊

The woman's return to awareness is gradual, peaceful. Allowing her eyes to remain closed, she stretches catlike for a moment until her movements bring her into contact with first one warm presence and then another.

"_Two?"_

Her mind barely has time to process that thought when she feels an arm drape across her stomach, which causes her eyes to fly open and she scrambles to a sitting position. She is in a large four-post bed with two sheet covered forms on either side of her. The arm, which only moments before was resting on her stomach, now moves as if it is seeking her. It is a man's arm. It is a familiar arm and belongs to the larger of the two forms in the bed with her. The second form is small. Her curiosity now aroused, she lifts the sheet to peer beneath the covers. She smiles as she discovers her husband is the larger form and her daughter is the smaller form. The small blonde head turns and her eyes meet a pair of sapphire blue eyes. The eyes sparkle with amusement and then the small shape scoots out from under the sheet.

"Mommy!"

"Baby!"

The two embrace. The woman's hold upon the child an act of quiet desperation and she begins to rock the child within the circle of her arms. The man continues in his oblivious slumber.

"I've missed you so much, baby! Mommy loves you so much! Please don't forget that I love you always!"

"I know Mommy. I love you too!"

The mother continues to hold her child and then begins to sing.

"_Would you know my name  
if I saw you in Heaven?  
Would it be the same  
if I saw you in Heaven?_

_I must be strong  
and carry on,  
'Cause I know I don't belong  
here in Heaven._

_Would you hold my hand  
if I saw you in Heaven?  
Would you help me stand  
if I saw you in Heaven?_

_I'll find my way  
through night and day,  
'Cause I know I just can't stay  
here in Heaven._

_Time can bring you down.  
Time can bend your knees.  
Time can break your heart.  
Have you begging please, begging please..._

_Beyond the door,  
there's peace I'm sure  
and I know there'll be no more  
Tears in Heaven._

_Would you know my name  
if I saw you in Heaven?  
Would it be the same  
if I saw you in Heaven?_

_I must be strong  
and carry on.  
'Cause I know I don't belong  
here in Heaven.  
'Cause I know I just can't stay  
here in Heaven."_

_**Eric Clapton and Will Jennings**_

Suddenly, the woman notices that the bed is not indoors in a bedroom as it should be, but outside in the middle of a lovely meadow.

"I have to go now, Mommy."

The little girl leans her forehead against her mother's for a moment and then tilts her head to allow her eyelashes to brush against her mother's cheek.

"Butterfly kisses!"

She giggles and then hugs her mother tightly.

"Mommy, they told me that when it becomes too difficult to remember who you are, you should think of my butterfly kisses and that would help you. Don't forget, okay?"

"Oh, Adrianna! I won't forget my little princess! I am so happy to see you again! I only wish…."

"I know, I know. We'll see each other again…beyond the door."

"I think of you every single day…"

"I know…. Love you…."

◊♦◊♥◊♦◊

She blinks and raises her head from the desk, her face still wet with tears.

"_I love you too, Adrianna."_

She wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands and sighs.

"_Don't worry, baby! I will remember your butterfly kisses. Thank you!"_

She clears her throat and rubs her eyes. Then checking her letter for tear stains and finding none, she grimly resumes writing her letter to the woman she now calls, "cousin."

◊♦◊♥◊♦◊

Cousin,  
I have noticed recently that I have been experiencing moments where I do not feel like myself. If you have had moments such as these, do not panic! There is a reason for this, but I would feel more comfortable in providing you with an explanation when we meet in person rather than discussing this matter in our correspondence. Suffice it to say, your temper shall be fierce at times, but we will weather through this.

I know we do not know one another very well yet, but it is my belief that we shall become very close friends.

Anxiously awaiting the day, we can cement the foundation of our friendship,

Your loving cousin,  
Christine Maire


	67. Drifting Away

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Sixty-Seven – Drifting Away**

Lying in bed next to my wife, I stare at her lovely face and find myself (once again) intently committing every detail of her lovely face into my memory. She's been so distressed lately and hasn't wanted to worry me, so she's been attempting to shield me from the fact that with each passing day, she is losing more and more of herself. The only times she returns to me is when I bring her to orgasm and when she speaks of her daughters, which has helped me conclude that passion allows my beloved to find her way back to her body. While I loved Christine Daae, I never loved her as a husband loves a wife, so the charade we agreed to play here in Paris seems to be slowly becoming our reality. Each time I hear her voice grow timid and uncertain, it causes the fracture within my heart to grow. I thank the Creator that she did not encounter M. Gilles (that rogue bastard!) while she was in the state she is now. I shudder to think what would have occurred. Fortunately, nothing happened, so it is best to discard those thoughts. What I need to concentrate on now is how I can help remedy this situation. I do not wish, nor do I intend to be married to the body of my beloved and the unformed mind and emotions of the young Christine Daae.

I have never been one to sit back and calmly accept whatever life throws at me. In most instances, I make elaborate plans and then put them into play, throwing caution and good sense to the winds and if anyone dared interfere, there was hell to pay. I find myself in an entirely unfamiliar situation, as I have absolutely no idea what I can do to rectify this situation, much less help her. Adding to my feelings of despair over this matter is Christine herself. She doesn't know what to do. As I watch her sleep, I can feel her sense of powerlessness, how uncertain she feels and most of all, I feel her overwhelming fear of losing herself. I know she is fighting this as best she can, but her fear tells me that she believes it to be a losing battle. This situation is completely unacceptable.

After giving this matter many hours of thought, I believe there are only two people that may be able to help her. One of them, I cannot find it in me to trust. That leaves only one person to whom I can turn, Nadir Khan. The Persian. The Daroga.

Yet, I hesitate to contact him. My beloved Christine and I for the moment live in this timeline, but we are not of this time. I find myself plagued with worry and doubt for I do not know this man. If he is the same man I met while I was a prisoner of the gypsies, I am certain he can be trusted. If not, well, he can be as deadly and dangerous an enemy as I can.

I cannot endure the thought of losing her, not when we were so close to finding our happily ever after. At last, I acquiesce to the inevitable. I know what I must do, so I do it.

With a sigh, I push myself up, walk to the desk, sit and begin to compose a letter to my Persian friend.

☼**Ω∞Ω☼Ω∞Ω☼Ω∞Ω☼**

Daroga,

I realize it has been quite some time since I last contacted you. Much has happened in my life since we last met and I believe you will be most pleased to hear that I am truly a reformed man. You may even contact your informants, should you doubt the veracity of my statement. I shall not take offense, nor shall I lose my temper with you over your doubt. I am that desperate!

As you have most likely surmised, simply by being in receipt of this missive, I am in most urgent need of your immediate assistance. You know better than anyone else how difficult it is for me to ask for help and therefore, please know this … that except for it being in a roundabout way, I do not ask for myself, but ask on the behalf of my wife. Circumstances lead me to believe that you are quite likely the only person that can help (or know of someone who can help us.)

Regretfully, I must request that you pay us a visit at Le Hôtel Grand where we currently maintain the Red and Gold Suite as well as the Blue and Gold Suite. Your presence here is necessary, as it is easier to show you the nature of my dilemma than attempt to explain it to you with written words. I registered the suites under my true name and as my father conveyed upon me the right to use the title of Comte, you may wish to use it when you announce yourself at the front desk.

Please come at once, Daroga, you know that I would not trouble you if the need be anything less than dire. Please come!

E.

☼**Ω∞Ω☼Ω∞Ω☼Ω∞Ω☼**

Each morning for the last two weeks, I hurry off to the Conservatoire to witness the birthing of the score for Lakmé. I must confess that I have found it rather enjoyable observing Léo as he composes his score. Observing him has provided me with a great deal of insight as to how hard it is being the non-creative person in a relationship. I watch Léo compose and wonder if I am this obsessed when I write. After some serious introspection, I must admit, in all truthfulness, that most likely I am even more difficult than Léo when I compose. I know how single-minded I am as evidenced by the facts that I do not eat or sleep for days at a time when I work. It is no wonder that Christine Daae often seemed afraid of me when I was writing _"Don Juan Triumphant."_ I find myself wishing that could have known then all of the things I know now. There are so many "what ifs" that I have been thinking about lately. I have had a lot of time to think lately, since my beloved, well … I miss her. Having her here while at the same time not, makes it even worse and now, Christmas is only three weeks away.

☼**Ω∞Ω☼Ω∞Ω☼Ω∞Ω☼**

I am most pleased to report the score is complete. Léo is displeased over just a few passages, but has declared that he cannot make adjustments until he hears the voices, which will breathe life into his composition. Therefore, we can only wait until after the auditions for the final revision of the score. We have agreed to hold the auditions just after the first of the year. I told Christine of the audition dates and she simply smiled at me. I asked her if I could help her in preparing her voice for the auditions and she said it wasn't necessary. As I no longer go to the Conservatoire every day and am staying inside our suites, I discovered that Christine's daily routine includes her taking long walks. When I asked her where she goes, her eyes glazed and she did not answer me. I feel like weeping, screaming and breaking something all at the same time. Christmas is in two weeks.

☼**Ω∞Ω☼Ω∞Ω☼Ω∞Ω☼**

I have followed Christine every day for the last week as she takes her walk. Every day her walk begins as if she has no specific destination in mind and she seems to follow a rambling path for the first half hour or so. All too soon, it seems her pied piper begins to play his silent song. The song leads away from the hotel and off to the southeast along the Avenue de l'Opéra. She walks along the street as if in a trance, seeming to be completely oblivious to anything near her. Her journey takes her along the edge of the Jardin des Tuileries all the way to the place where the Pont du Carrousel crosses La Seine. She then walks along La Seine past Pont des Arts and Pont Neuf. All the while, her eyes remain fixed straight ahead and her face is expressionless. She continues past Pont Neuf, but before reaching Pont au Change, her path leaves La Seine and she finds her way to the Place du Châtelet. After walking around the outer circle of the plaza three or more times, she suddenly changes course and walks across to the center of the plaza to La Fontaine de la Lumière (the Fountain of Light.) She sits on a bench directly across from one of the water-spewing sphinxes. Most of the time, she simply sits staring into the eyes of a sphinx. Sometimes her gaze locks on the statue of winged victory, which rests atop the center column of the fountain. I do not know why she comes here or what merits her unblinking contemplation. I simply report where it is that my beloved goes everyday. 

☼**Ω∞Ω☼Ω∞Ω☼Ω∞Ω☼**

We leave Paris this afternoon. The Daroga has not responded to my letter. With all of the details of our official wedding ready, I find myself in a panic as I do not know if my bride wishes to marry me. She speaks in monosyllabic words and no longer smiles. It has been weeks since we made love. Each night I lie next to a beautiful, silent stranger and feel my heart break a little bit more. Christmas is one week away. 

☼**Ω∞Ω☼Ω∞Ω☼Ω∞Ω☼**

Dare I hope?

Sometimes, I truly believe that there is no god. I know that there cannot possibly be a benevolent hand guiding this world. I simply believe in universal chaos and the ever-encroaching hand of entropy. I know there is no god each time I look into a mirror, each time I look into the eyes of a starving child, each time I look into the eyes of a victim of rape and each time I look into the vacant eyes of my beloved.

At other times, like today, I know that there must be a god.

As Christine, Henrí, Miriam and I walked across the hotel's lobby this afternoon, the Daroga entered the lobby. I grabbed him by the arm, told him we had to leave Paris at that instant and gave him no choice in that he had to travel with us to Montmuran. I hurriedly explained everything to the Daroga. He nodded his head a few times and asked me a few questions otherwise, he did not interrupt me. When I at long last finished, we were on the train and half way to Le Mans. The Daroga asked if he could examine and speak with Christine privately and I granted his request by removing Henrí and Miriam with me to the Dining Car. I sit, looking out the window, waiting for words of hope from my friend.

☼**Ω∞Ω☼Ω∞Ω☼Ω∞Ω☼**

"_Erik?"_

I hear her voice call to me from within my mind so quietly that I almost thought I had imagined it.

"_Christine? Is it really you, my love?"_

"_Yes, dearest, it is I. I have missed you so very much. Come back to the compartment! The Daroga brought me back, but I cannot stay for very long. I must return and help her finish. She needs my strength. She needs my courage. Hurry, my dearest!"_

"_I'm on my way, ma chère cœur!"_

Telling Henrí and Miriam to take their time and finish their meal, I run through the train and back to our compartment as quickly as possible. I fling open the door and rush inside to see her look at me. She is looking at me. Christine is looking at me!

"Christine!"

"Erik!"

I throw open my arms and sweep her into a tight embrace. She pulls back and lifts her lips to me and I crush them with mine. Time seems to stand still as we devour one another's lips and then deepen the kiss as our tongues caress. My hands run wild over her body eliciting passionate moans, which she breathes back into my mouth. Gravity begins to pull us to the floor.

"Excuse me. I hate to interrupt, but I need to remind the two of you that you are not alone."

The Daroga's words effectively cut through our ardor in much the same manner as a bucket of ice water. Both of our bodies freeze. I sigh and Christine giggles, which causes me to sigh again. We extricate ourselves from one another and turn towards the sound of his voice.

"I do apologize, but I could not leave as the two of you blocked the only door out. Besides, Christine cannot stay. She must return. I knew that you had to see her for yourself before I sent her back, Erik, or I would have already returned her. You need to say your good byes."

With those words, he turned away from us and looked out the window.

"Are you all right, ma chère cœur? Where have you been? When will you return to me?"

"Erik, your friend will answer all of your questions. Just know this…I am all right and I will return to you. I love you now and always."

"Very well. I love you too!"

Our farewells consist of our lips pressing together passionately for several minutes. Christine is the first to pull away from me. She graces me with a sad smile then turns to the Daroga.

"Sir, I am ready. Well, as ready as I'll ever be."

The Persian turns to face us and holds out his hand to Christine. She takes his hand and he leads her to her seat by the window. She sits down and composes herself. Our eyes meet and she blows a kiss to me. The Daroga lifts his hand to her face and covers her eyes. He mutters something and then removes his hand from her eyes. The silent, stranger now sits looking unseeingly out the window.

☼**Ω∞Ω☼Ω∞Ω☼Ω∞Ω☼**

"Nadir, what the hell is going on?"

My words sound harsh and angry. I know that I should be grateful to this man for returning Christine to me, but seeing the transformation of my wife back to the stranger frightens me and thus, enrages me. The Persian understands the cause of my anger and ignores it. His reply is calm and soothing.

"She is lending her fighting spirit to the person who needs it the most right now. Right now, Christine Daae engages her husband in a battle for her freedom. Raoul crushed her spirit long ago and she does not have the strength to fight for her freedom. Your lady wife does. When your lady helped Christine rid herself of eleven years of pain, it bonded the two of them together. Your wife is providing Christine with a backbone. This time, Raoul will not walk away with her! Christine shall have both her freedom and her children before this day is through. More importantly, you shall regain your wife! Erik, _you_ have a wife! Congratulations, my boy! Congratulations! She is very lovely. Please take a seat, Erik. You must tell me everything now. I simply must know everything!"

And, with those words, I spend the remainder of the trip answering the Persian's questions about Christine and me.


	68. You Are Not Alone

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Sixty-Eight – You are not Alone**

The Daroga's relentless delving into the recent developments of my life takes more time than I anticipated. The questions continue through our arrival in Le Mans, our surprisingly short layover at the station and on through most of our trip to Rennes. Initially, I attempt to edit facts concerning probabilities, time travel, alternate universes and supernatural occurrences, but the man is no fool. He knows me all too well and his silence says so much more than most men's eloquence. With a sigh and a shake of my head, I slowly and cautiously tell him the entire truth. Occasionally, I find my eyes drawn to the silent, pale form of my wife and wonder if I had imagined her recent re-animation. I long for my turn to act as inquisitor.

The Persian's torrent of questions runs dry just as the dawn begins to send out tiny tendrils of light to stretch above the purple horizon and reach into the nighttime sky. We sit in silence. I cannot say it is a comfortable silence for I still do not know the cause of Christine's silent withdrawal, but at the very least, it is not a hostile one. After all, the man sitting across from me did return my beloved to me, even if it was just for a short while. I will not complain. Beggars cannot be choosers. Somehow, he brought her back to me. I held her in my arms and felt her love thoroughly invade me … her essence occupied me – body, mind and soul. Nadir had done this for me. He had brought her back just long enough for her to let me know that she loves me still.

"_Oh, Christine…."_

♥♀●♀●♀●♀●♀●♀●♀♥

"_Having attained the ripe old age of 49, I will admit that I have never had a female as a roommate and I will be the first to admit that I never wanted to have one. Now, I find myself thrust into a situation that is even more personal than sharing a place to live … I share a body with another woman."_

We sit at a small writing desk in the room we share with Christine's infant son. We look out the window of the chateau, pausing for a moment to appreciate the intense blue of the winter sky. We decided to keep a journal of our time together. I had feared it would be an impossible task, but have discovered that since Christine de Chagny is right-handed and I am left-handed, we have been able to record our individual thoughts without the other's influencing our writing.

"_Strange that we are opposite-handed. Almost as if, fate consciously designed us so we could join in this way. After a moment's reflection, I suppose fate did plan this. It would have been nice if fate had informed us it intended us to be roomies, but nothing in my life has ever been easy. Why should this be any different?"_

"_I miss my husband and wish I could have told him what was happening to me, but I didn't really understand it myself until I (for lack of a better word) woke up in this body. I suppose the reason the transition took so long was that I fought it so hard. I thought that I was becoming Christine de Chagny and (with apologies to my hostess) really did not want to be her. The two of us have had many an intense discussion over the choices she made in her life. It seems to me that her personality is the polar opposite of mine. My grandmother would have said that she lacks gumption; my mother would have said she lacked a backbone and my feeling is that she has no guts. However, in all honesty, I must admit that her personality is a product of the time in which she lives as well as the result of losing her mother at birth and her father at the age of six. I am also quite certain that Erik's Angel of Music did not help her develop her sense of self-reliance, as he was always there to take care of her. I know, thank you Mrs. Sigmund!"_

"_Anyway, I've been coaching Christine in self-reliance and trying to bolster her self-confidence. I discovered very quickly that when it comes to her making a decision about something she wants, she is like a deer in headlights. She freezes and cannot choose. It seems to me the reason was fear of making a mistake, so rather than make a mistake; she would do nothing and let the nearest man make it for her. Even when she chose to marry Raoul, it wasn't really a choice. Raoul had placed her in a situation where she simply had no other alternative than to acquiesce to his demand. She is a good person and Raoul knew this, so he played upon this by offering her a choice that really was no choice at all."_

♥○♥○♥○♥○♥○♥○♥

"_Oh! I do want to record something that happened to me while I was still in my own body, but walking about Paris like zombie-woman. I met Sarah Bernhardt! I left the hotel one morning with the intention of exploring a few more of the bridges over La Seine. I walked along the Avenue de l'Opéra until I came to Rue de Richelieu when I found myself drawn to the Place Colette. There was a theater on that street (I later learned the name of the theater is the Comédie-Française) and just as I neared the theater a striking woman with dark, wide-set eyes and curly, dark, shoulder-length hair collided with me as she stumbled out of a side door. We ended up sitting on the sidewalk staring at one another. For a moment, we sat silent with shock and surprise, but then we both burst out laughing. We helped one another to our feet and dusted off one another's skirts. I introduced myself to her and held out my hand. She paused for a moment, staring at my outstretched hand then she took my hand and told me her name. Of all the people, Sarah Bernhardt! My mother always teased me as a child and said that I should go on the stage and perform because I was so melodramatic! She called me, "Sarah Heartburn." My mother's teasing made me curious about Sarah, so I had spent quite a bit of time in the library reading about her and now, here she was standing right in front of me! I told her that I was new to Paris and asked her the name of the theater. She told me the name and said she was preparing for the gala performance of "La Dame aux Camélias." (Otherwise known as, "Camille" in the United States.) She wanted to know if I was familiar with the story and I assured her that I knew it quite well and thought it a beautiful, but sad story. She laughed at the earnestness she saw in my face and I felt a blush rush into my cheeks. I was amazed to find this beautiful, talented and famous actress taking an interest in me! She must have noticed the fire in my cheeks and the surprise in my eyes for she laughed and snaked her arm through mine. I thought I would faint, but held on to my composure when she asked me to accompany her for luncheon. Stammering, I assured her that it would be both an honor and a pleasure to accompany her anywhere. She raised an eyebrow and cast an appraising glance my way, but must have decided that my response was sincere for she did not comment on my remark. I had to remind myself that I was a married woman. Something about this woman inspired a place other than my cheeks to burn and tingle with a fierce and sudden desire. "The Divine Sarah" truly is. I wonder if the unsubstantiated rumors I had read about were true. Did she have an affair with the artist, Louise Abbema? Being in her company and escorting her to lunch on my arm certainly caused me to form my own opinion. I will freely admit that if I had been a single woman, I would have delved more deeply into this divine woman's sexual preferences. However, I am married, am absolutely in love with my husband and am a firm believer in the sacredness of our wedding vows, I will never betray our love. Therefore, I settle for the pleasure of her company for lunch. From the looks we elicit from the male patrons, we certainly seem to make a delectable couple! I spend the meal in a pleasant haze and have no memory at all of what I ate or drank."_

"_After lunch, we stroll, arm-in-arm and speak of art, theater, literature, politics, architecture and anything that comes to mind. Although, I freely admit Sarah did most of the talking. Mostly, I listen. I love listening to the sound of her voice. Suddenly, I understand. Even though I find Sarah physically attractive, her voice mesmerizes me and causes the moist heat between my thighs. Her voice has the same ability, as my Erik's to take my breath away."_

"_Sarah decides to give me a tour of the Comédie-Française. I spend the next several hours walking about the stunning theater in the company of one of the greatest performers of the 19th Century. We part company in the late afternoon after Sarah and I exchange calling cards. She promises to send box seat tickets to her gala performance and I promise to do the same if I am lucky and chosen for a role in "Lakmé." With a hug and a kiss on both cheeks, she leaves me on the sidewalk outside the theater. The sun is low in the sky. I sigh and return to the hotel."_

"_My only regret of that day is that it is the last one I clearly remember before 'waking up' inside Christine de Chagny. Yet, I cannot find it within myself to regret meeting Sarah. I hope we will meet again."_

♥○♥○♥○♥○♥○♥○♥

"_I have thought long and hard about the reason why I am here inside Christine de Chagny. I believe I know the reason and have a plan. We must write a letter to Raoul informing him of where we are and request that he come here to discuss the future of our family. I have been able to look through Christine's memories and discovered that her earliest memories of Raoul are sweet. It seems that he was not always vicious and cruel. I plan on using those memories along with my knowledge of his illness in an attempt to resurrect the kind and gentle boy and exorcise the cruel and brutal man. I must inform Christine of my plan and hope she understands that for her own sake as well as her children, she must somehow find it within herself to forgive him before he dies. It is only in this way can he be saved. In saving Raoul, she will save herself and her children by bringing an end to the circle of hate that seems to be a legacy of the family de Chagny."_

♥○♥○♥○♥○♥○♥○♥

Raoul,

I write this letter to inform you of the birth of our son. In spite of the fact that he was born early, both your son and I are well. In fact, he thrives. We received an offer of sanctuary and accepted it. We now shelter within the household of one of the most gracious men I have ever met, Monsieur le Comte Jean-Paul de Mornay. We currently dwell within his residence in Les Iffs, Bretagne … namely, le Château de Montmuran.

Please consider this letter an invitation to call upon me. I would like to introduce you to your son and will do so upon your arrival. However, you must understand that I do not intend to return with you to Paris. I can no longer tolerate your cruelty or violence upon my person. Being a devout Catholic, I am aware that the Church does not recognize civil divorce. Annulment on the other hand (and I realize the likelihood of receiving one is highly improbable) then causes our children to become illegitimate. In addition, annulment takes the Church years to process and I have heard rumors that you do not have years left to you, Raoul.

I have had much time to ponder over my life and find that I keep returning to a single question: What happened to the friend of my childhood? If I had been able to find that boy somewhere inside the man you forced me to marry, we would not be at this impasse. It is with deep regret that I must inform you that I cannot remain as your wife and will accept the censure of the Church by seeking a civil divorce. This matter is too important for me to timidly sit and accept whatever fate you decide to bring down upon my head. For whatever you decide affects not only me, but the lives of seven other people as well. Too long, I have allowed you to poison the minds of my daughters until I am but an evil stranger to them. Soon, you will depart this earth and I will remain here with the results of the havoc you have wreaked. Raoul, we MUST make amends and come to terms with one another before it is too late!

Please consider my words well. If you can find it within your heart to accept my forgiveness, perhaps you can begin to forgive yourself and find peace.

I await your reply.

Christine

♥♂●♂●♂●♂●♂●♂●♂♥

"So, Daroga, at last we come to it. How did you bring Christine back?"

"The answer is so simple that I can only believe you did not see it because you are too close to see it."

"Enough! Please? For once forsake with all the words of wisdom and just tell me. You must realize how much I love her?"

"Yes, Erik, I do. I do not mean to torment you. I just find myself in an unusual position of knowing something that you do not. No, do not lose your temper! Here is the answer … she is mesmerized and I awoke her from that state. Well, that is the closest word I can find to describe what she has unknowingly done to herself. Yes, look at her, Erik. You of all people should recognize the signs. She placed herself into a hypnotic state and projected her mind elsewhere. Where she is now, I have no idea. Although, I have my suspicions."

"She's with Christine, isn't she?"

"I believe so."

"Then it seems that we are headed in the right direction as the former Christine Daae's current residence is le Château de Montmuran."

"Well, we can only hope."

"Hope? Why?"

"Your wife may not be ready to return to her body or more importantly, she may feel that Christine still requires her presence. We shall see."

I feel hopeful and hollow at the same time. Raising my hand, I caress my wife's cheek. Thankfully, with her eyes closed, she appears asleep.

"Soon, my beloved. Soon …." I whisper.

* * *

**Author's Note: Historical facts – Sarah Bernhardt was a member of the acting troupe of the Comédie-Française. In 1880, she played the role of Marguerite in _"La Dame aux Camélias."_ She left the troupe in 1880 – a year prior to the date of this story. Sorry! Simply took a little artistic license with the timeframe! It was just too close to let it pass. The rumor of a lesbian affair between "The Divine Sarah" and the artist, Louise Abbema is true, but unsubstantiated. I am quite certain that Sarah wouldn't mind a little drama all for the sake of the story! The theater that Christine keeps finding herself drawn to was renamed, "The Sarah Bernhardt Theater" in the 1920's.

* * *

**


	69. Running Rings Around the Moon

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse – A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Nine – Running Rings Around the Moon**

"_He is here!"_

I hear myself giggle and then realize with a start that I am not the one giggling. She is.

"_You sound just like Meg – He is here! The Phantom of the Opera is here!"_

"_Well, at least you are giggling. It makes you sound like you're 16 years old again. Are you ready to do this?"_

We step in front of the mirror and give our reflection one last serious inspection.

"_I think you look beautiful, Christine. I might even go as far as to say that you look drop-dead gorgeous, but I think I'll save the "dead" comments until after you see him. If we're lucky, he will do just that. If not, well, I can always remedy that condition with my knives …."_

"_Chris! You promised me! No violence, just words!"_

"_So I did. Well, a promise is a promise, but it never hurts to be prepared. Come, Christine. Let us go free you of the true beast."_

We take a quick peek at Erik-Gustave and smile. At six weeks, the chubby baby boy shows no sign of being prematurely born. His cheeks are rosy, he has lots of his mother's curly chestnut hair and his intense eyes sparkle in a surprising shade of blue-green. The babe did not inherit those eyes from either his mother or father.

"_Christine, I know that your eyes are the same color as your father's eyes. What color were your mother's eyes?"_

"_Hmmm? Oh, my mother's eyes were cornflower blue. Why?"_

"_No reason, I was just wondering."_

The babe fixes his eyes upon us and inspects his mother just as intently as we had done to him a moment before. We pass his inspection for he contentedly closes his eyes, inserts his chubby thumb into his little rosebud of a mouth and begins to suck it as he quickly falls asleep.

We smile and nod at the little servant girl, Theresa, who helps us care for Erik-Gustave. Jean-Paul insisted that we accept her help and we have found telling him 'no' is nigh near impossible. We have found that it is better to accept with grace than to ignobly argue with him. We take leave of our room's warmth and make our way through the halls, down the stairs, across the foyer and into the study.

☼☼☼☼☼

Jean-Paul is the first person we see. The change in his appearance from the first time we saw him is almost as dramatic as the physical changes apparent in the man who sits across from him. While the Comte has changed for the better, the Vicomte's downward spiral has accelerated. I cannot help but notice that his condition is a great deal worse than it was when I last saw him at the opera house. His deterioration is so great that it appears he can no longer walk. His body now confined to the wheelchair in which he sits.

I feel Christine's dismay as her eyes take in the sight of the man to whom she is married.

Halting in the middle of saying something to Raoul, Jean-Paul literally leaps up from his chair and rushes around the desk to greet us. He looks more like Erik than ever before, at least ten years younger than the day I met him as well as being much more physically robust. The bruised bags no longer hang below his eyes, which are clear and twinkle merrily as he sweeps us into a quick, affectionate embrace.

Raoul does not rise as we enter the room. He simply turns his chair to face us. After a moment, Christine's mind registers with shock the fact that Raoul is in a wheelchair.

I suddenly feel strange and realize that Christine is on the verge of fainting.

"_Don't you dare faint you coward! Remember the night of "Il Muto" and the rooftop! Do you remember how he left you there? Yes, he is a pitiful creature now, but he is reaping what he has sown."_

My words hiss inside her mind. Hugging her arms across her chest, I give her a vicious pinch in an attempt to stave off her faint. My efforts are useless and I feel her lose consciousness, so I take over.

Jean-Paul grins at me and then finds he cannot restrain his happiness. Once more, I find myself in another of his warm, fatherly embraces. I compose myself drawing strength from him and return his hug with equal affection.

"I do believe you grow younger every time I see you, Jean-Paul!"

He laughs and as he does, I hear Erik's laugh in his voice.

"The secret to growing younger is to have a child in the house. Trystin is my not-so-secret fountain of youth!"

He laughs again briefly at his own joke and I chuckle with him. The man's love for my child shines in his eyes and in the enthusiasm in his voice. My heart flutters as I hear my daughter's name. Christine keeps so busy taking care of her son and then resting that I rarely am able to see her. I push my longing for my daughter and my husband to the side once again.

"_If all goes well, tonight will find me back where I belong."_ I think hopefully.

"And you seem to have taken a deep draught, Monsieur le Comte …."

Taking a deep breath and, then releasing it slowly, I turn my head to look down on Raoul.

"Raoul."

I nod my head as I speak his name. The word flows from my lips without hate and without love, no emotion coloring it to give the man the slightest hint of what he can expect from this meeting.

I brace myself for what I fear will be a traumatic experience; I search his face and open myself to his feelings, both emotional and physical. I begin to blink rapidly to disguise my desire to shed tears before this man as the sudden onslaught of his pain bowls into my entire being. It takes all of my control to hide my discomfort. I quickly close the channel on which his pain rides and wait briefly before I resume my examination of the man. I feel the flood of his emotions wash over me. He feels so many things as he looks upon the face of his wife, but mostly I sense the strongest of his emotions to be regret.

"Christine." He softly, almost hesitantly, speaks her name as I feel his shame pull his eyes down to the floor.

"Are you well, Christine?" His eyes still fastened upon the floor.

"Yes, thank you. May I inquire after your health?"

I had not wanted to ask, but felt there was little else I could do.

"My health … well …." He sweeps his arms out, gesturing to himself in the wheelchair. "This says more than words I suppose." He raises his eyes to meet mine. "Soon, I shall not be any more trouble to you, Little Lotte. I read your letter. How is it that you find it within your heart to speak to me of forgiveness?"

I notice that Jean-Paul in an effort to afford us some privacy and at the same time not abandon me, walks to the window of his study and directs his attention outside. His attention appears caught by something very far away, but I know it is just that – an appearance.

In that moment, the room shrinks until there is only Raoul and me. While I did not know him as a boy and have only hazy memories of Christine's, I believe that I can see the boy that chased a scarf into the sea and brought it back to a weeping little girl. A little boy who wanted nothing more than to see the little girl smile at him.

For the sake of the little boy, I bestow upon the man a smile both sweet and sad.

"Raoul, If, I do not forgive you that leaves me with only hate. I cannot bring myself to hate you for if I do, the hate will do nothing but consume me in the end. Forgiveness allows me to move forward with my life and I truly wish to do that. I wish to be free of hate. I want nothing more than to be able to find love."

An angry cloud passes swiftly across his features and his eyes darken, his fists clench, but it passes after a moment. His guard crumbles and the boy breaks free of the man's control. Tears begin to trickle from the corners of his eyes.

"Christine, is it possible for you to forgive me? I think not, but you are not me. You are an earth-bound angel and as such, you have the strength to grant me forgiveness. However, even if you do find it in your heart to forgive me, there are others I have wronged and what I did to them, there is no possibility of forgiveness. I am dying and I am damned. Yet, I feel compelled to make things right with you. Christine, what is it that you wish of me?"

"I wish to be free of our marriage. I want to be a part of my children's lives. I want to have the love of my children. Most of all, I do not want to be afraid anymore."

"Well, then you are in luck. I believe I can grant your wish very soon, Christine. The doctors say it could be any time. If I live to see summer, the doctors will be quite surprised. I have no desire to hurt you anymore. I do not expect, nor will I ask, you to return with me to Paris. If you can wait just a little while longer, you will be free.

I brought documents that require your signature. I intend to deed to you the stone chateau on the Allée des Cormorans in Saint-Pair sur-Mer and provide you with an income to cover the expenses of running the household.

This next will be difficult for you to handle, so I feel it is necessary for me to speak of it now. My will instructs that you are to have sole custody of our children with an allowance for their care and schooling. The source of the funds to care for the children and to run the house comes from my portion of ownership of the family vineyards. I decided to bequeath a quarter of my ownership in the vineyards to you for the purpose of running your household and the other three-quarters shall provide for the care and schooling of our children. Phillipe will have a fit about this, but the avocat who drew up the papers is very thorough and I am confident the terms shall stand firm if Phillipe attempts to contest them. All I ask of you is that you wait until I am gone and not divorce me. You need not ever see me again and I will not interfere in your life. Just grant me this last dignity."

"What if I remarry? What happens to the bequest?"

"It remains in effect for the rest of your life and reverts to the children upon your death. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes, of course it is. What of our daughters?"

His shoulders sag, but he continues determinedly.

"You may have them immediately, if you wish. I only request that they be allowed to visit me, should they so desire and, of course, I would like to see them one last time before the end."

"I can make no promises, but if you send word, I will inform the girls and allow them to choose."

"Fair enough. I cannot dare to ask for anything more."

Silence descends upon the room and the man begins to fidget in his chair. I can feel his desire, but say nothing. I am all too aware of what it is he wants, but I wait for him to ask. Several minutes stretch on interminably before he works up his nerve.

"Can I see my son?"

He raises his eyes to mine and I pause, looking into the watery blue eyes. As I consider the man before me, I notice that something in our eyes startles him. I almost smirk as I realize he believes the new emotional maturity he sees in our eyes belongs to Christine.

"_How can he think otherwise? To think that perhaps there is someone other than Christine inside Christine's body would mean taking a walk on the path that leads to madness. Yet, in truth, I am here within her. I am speaking for her and moving her body as she lies in a faint."_

"Yes, Raoul, you may see Erik-Gustave Daae de Chagny. I will fetch him. I shall not be gone too long."

His eyes show not the slightest hint of recognition that his son's name originates from the name of his old enemy.

"_I forgot. He never knew my dearest's given name."_

Looking at the withered man seated across the room, I grimace almost imperceptibly.

"Monsieur le Comte? Do you think that you could ask Marguerite to be so kind as to bring Monsieur le Vicomte a cup of chamomile tea no cream with a small dollop of honey and perhaps something to eat? He's had a rough trip and appears to be in dire need of sustenance."

Jean-Paul casts a glance, first at me and then at Raoul.

"Oh my! I do apologize for my lack of manners. Monsieur, our chef is an excellent cook and we have an extensive kitchen. Is there anything special you would like me to request?"

Silence fills the room as Raoul ponders his answer to the Comte's query. I take the silence as my cue to take my leave of the room and go to retrieve Christine and Raoul's son. The little boy named after my husband. The little boy that Christine has asked me to stand as his godmother and intends to ask Erik to stand as his godfather. The little boy, nay babe, who all too soon shall become a Vicomte.

☼☼☼☼☼

I swiftly make my way back to Christine's room. Upon entering, I smile reassuringly at Theresa and tell the sweet child that she may have the rest of the day to herself and will not again require her assistance until this evening around 7 p.m. The unexpected reprieve pleases the girl greatly and she dips me a curtsey before hurrying from the room. I smile.

"_It takes so little to make people happy. She believes I have done her a great kindness, but to me, it is nothing. A trivial matter. It is all a matter of perspective, Chris! Remember there is a balance in all things, Yin and Yang, good and evil, right and wrong, black and white. Ah, yes, black and white. It is the balance between the opposing forces that allows for all of the wondrous shades of gray in-between."_

I shake my head to clear it of all distracting thoughts.

"_Christine! Wake up, my dear! It is time to pay the piper! Christine! You need to do this or you will never be able to move forward with your life. You will be forever stuck in the past. Wake up, girl!"_

There is no answer to my calls, no response to my pleas, only silence. It is the silence of the damsel in distress holding her breath for fear of the villain discovering her. I am not alone in this silence.

"_Damn you, Christine! You are a sniveling coward! If you do not want my help, why did you ask for it? Your cowardice made my transition so difficult. It did not have to be that way. I taught you how to call me and you could do it, but you have no faith in yourself…why, Christine? Why?"_

I stand before the fireplace and look up at the large, gilt-framed mirror, which hangs above its mantelpiece. I lock my eyes with those reflecting back at me.

"_You had best speak to me, girl! I am not going to bring the baby to Raoul. That task is for you, not me. He will wait only so long before he sends someone. You must stop running! I will not save you. Erik cannot save you. Jean-Paul will protect you, but I will not allow him to interfere. You are the one who must save you. YOU alone can bring an end to both your suffering and Raoul's. It is time to grow up and face your life. Accept it, change it and move on. Speak to me! If you truly wish to be free of the past, speak!"_

Silence … then ….

"_But, I don't know what to do. I am afraid."_

I smile gently at the reflection.

"_We all are afraid, but you have something most do not. You are not alone. I am here for you. I will not leave you until you are ready. Come, child. Pick up your son and introduce him to his father."_

"_I cannot."_

Stunned, words escape me for a moment before I reply.

"_Why?"_

"_Raoul is not Erik-Gustave's father."_

My mind whirls at her declaration and the memory of the babe's blue-green eyes flashes before me.

"_Well, who is?"_ I whisper, not wanting to hear the inevitable answer, but knowing I must all the same.

"_Erik, the opera ghost is the child's father._

_Almost eleven months ago, I ran away from Raoul, I hid in the cellars of the opera house. I thought Erik had abandoned them long ago, but much to my surprise, I found him there. He was truly a ghost of the man I once knew. He was dying. I believe he had consumption for he coughed often and sometimes I would see blood on his handkerchief._

_Anyway, we comforted one another for a time through our companionship. He seemed almost happy. I just wanted him to be happy. I wanted to make him happy. I knew no one but me had ever kissed him, so I was certain that no one had ever made love to him. I wanted him to feel completely loved at least one time in his life. He had given me so much, I thought it was the least I could do for him. So one night I went to him and lay with him. I discovered, much too both our surprise, that I loved him. We spent several blissful weeks together._

_My time with Erik was the longest time I spent avoiding my return to Raoul. I carefully planned my escape to coincide with a long-planned business trip. I ran away the same day Raoul boarded a ship in Marseille bound for Alexandria, Egypt. It took quite some time before he received the news of my departure and even more time for him to return to Paris. One of the saddest days of my life was the day I left Erik. Raoul's men always contacted Madame Giry whenever I ran away. As I was aware of this habit, I usually stayed as far away as possible from her. However, this time, I enlisted her help. I asked Madame to let me know when Raoul's men came looking for me that way I received warning of Raoul's presence in Paris. When I received word of Raoul's return, I knew it was no longer safe for us to be together. I feared what Raoul would do to Erik should he discover my infidelity. Erik was so weak. He was no match for Raoul. We both agreed that I could not stay, but that did not make leaving any easier. We made love one last, glorious time. I told Erik that I would always love him – which I do – and then, I returned to Raoul._

_About a week or so after I returned, I realized I was pregnant. I could not return to Erik, as my fear for his safety knew no bounds when I realized my condition. Raoul's vengeance would be an evil thing and I had no wish to speculate on how he would extract it from my Erik. Erik did learn of my pregnancy. I had to let him know that a part of him would survive in the form of our child. I sent word to him through Madame Giry. His only response was that if the child was a boy, I name him Erik-Gustave and if a girl, I name her Madeleine Rose._

_To avoid suspicion, I allowed Raoul into my bed and suffered his attentions upon my person, which is the reason he believe this child to be his. He has no reason to believe otherwise._

_Erik-Gustave's birth was not early, but full-term. I spoke with Etienne and he was gracious enough not to contradict my story of a premature birth._

_Now, you know my shameful secret. Now, you know why I was so jealous of you. I thought you had stolen my Erik away from me. When I met him on the train, I was so confused. I couldn't understand how he showed no sign of consumption. He made some vague comment about doctors. In the past, he often hid his hurt feelings under a cold exterior, but I saw nothing except brotherly affection in his eyes and his eyes were completely guileless. When he spoke of you, I thought I would lose my mind. I thought he does this to torture me. He hates me! He must know this is his child, but … he never was the man with whom I made love. I saw that the day you healed me. I only have one unanswered question, but I fear my heart already knows the answer … does my Erik still live?"_

Watching her reflection, I answer her question as I cause her head to shake sadly from side-to-side. Then I speak the words she needs to hear.

"_The opera ghost is no more. He has found peace at last. Take what comfort you can from that."_

The reflection gently nods its acceptance.

"_Come, Christine. Let us give comfort to another dying man. Erik would not begrudge it, so you shouldn't either. Pick up your son and introduce him to your childhood friend."_

She sighs and after a moment, we walk to the cradle.

"Come, Erik-Gustave! It is time for you to meet your father." She speaks these words aloud then continues in the silence of our minds.

"_I have one last lie to tell before Raoul dies."_

Wrapping the babe carefully in a warm blanket to guard against a chill, we return to the study to make the introductions.

* * *

**Author's Note: I borrowed the title of this chapter from a line in the song, "The Windmills of Your Mind," words and music by Alan & Marilyn Bergman and Michel Legrand.**

* * *


	70. Fragments of Song

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Seventy – Fragments of Song**

She is too young to be this sad. I am powerless to comfort her. She believes I must hate her or at the very least be jealous of her. Her belief could not be further from the truth. I love her and my heart breaks for her. Suddenly, I am compelled to sing a song from my time to Christine and hope it brings her comfort.

"_Why am I so nervous?  
Please explain to me why I can't sleep?  
I close my eyes to shelter, in the dark I try to hide.  
If you leave me on my own,  
I'm worried I could lose my way._

_In my mind, confusion,  
I see you everywhere, but we don't speak.  
I try so hard to touch you, but you're always out of reach.  
If you walked right by, would I see it in your eye?  
Would you turn away?_

_Seems to me I've been a long time on this road.  
Has there been a sign, another way and I've passed it by?  
I don't know what it is that drives me on.  
Gotta keep movin'!  
Gotta keep movin' on!_

_Bring it on home!  
Let's bring it on home – your love.  
Bring it on home!  
Let's bring it on home, your love.  
Bring it on home!  
Let's bring it on home, your love.  
Down parallel lines –  
Don't question faith –  
Don't answer lies – _

_Tell me why I'm nervous.  
Please explain to me, why I can't sleep?  
Please explain to me, why you're always out of reach?  
If the water ran dry, would I see it in your eye?  
Would you walk away?_

_It seems to me I've been a long time on this road  
and I wonder why?  
Has there been a sign that points another way  
and I've passed it by?  
I don't know what it is that drives me on.  
Gotta keep movin'!  
Gotta keep movin' on!_

_Bring it on home (straight lines before my eyes.)  
Let's bring it on home, your love.  
Bring it on home (straight lines before my eyes.)  
Let's bring it on home, your love.  
Bring it on home (straight lines before my eyes.)  
Let's bring it on home, your love.  
Down parallel lines –  
Don't question faith –  
Don't answer lies – _

_You know you gotta keep movin'!  
Bring it on home (straight lines before my eyes.)  
Let's bring it on home, your love.  
Bring it on home (straight lines before my eyes.)  
Let's bring it on home, your love."_

– "**_Nervous" Words and Lyrics by "The Moody Blues"_**

As the song ends, so does the compulsion to sing.

"_That was weird."_

☼●□●☼●□●☼

However, I reconsider my words as I feel Christine's reaction to the song. I feel she has a new sense of hope, a possibility for the future and I sense she found a small degree of comfort.

My thoughts become distracted as a voice whispers to me in the silent corner of the mind I currently share. The whispers seem to offer secretive, seductive answers to many unvoiced questions. Each answer holds the key to open a door. Behind each door lies a slightly different possibility of the path our life can take. The factor deciding which door opens is choice, so all that remains is for me to choose. By making my choice, I commit myself to the door, but I take comfort in the knowledge that it is always possible to change the path. No conclusion is ever inevitable. Such is the gift (and curse) of free will.

"_Which choice is the best one for all concerned? Please, help me. I've never asked for help before this moment and I ask not for myself, but for Christine. Please, help me to help her make the right choice."_

I am surprised to discover my disappointment when my plea meets with a stony silence, which stretches along for several painful minutes.

"_Please?"_

"_Perhaps, the best choice for all concerned is not yours to make, dolly girl. She needs to choose. This is her time to do so. It is your time to lend aid and support her choice. Remember this is her time, not yours. Do not fear, my dolly girl. I am almost certain that your time will come. Be strong for her, she needs you."_

"_Grandpa, is it really you? Oh! How I've missed you so! I love you! I will remember, I promise. If I give Christine her time, will that help the certainty of mine coming to pass?"_

"_It is I, my child. I have missed you as well and I will always love you. It is forbidden to answer such questions, but I can say this much … you are well on the way to the road home. I know you'll do the right thing, dolly girl. I can only offer her and you this small hope … love never dies. Tell her love never dies."_

"_I will, Grandpa. I will. I love you!"_

"_And, I love you, little dolly girl. Farewell."_

His presence disappears before I can say anything more.

☼●□●☼●□●☼

"_Christine, we need to talk."_

We stand before the mirror in the bedroom we share with her infant son. Feeling her apprehension, I attempt to put her at ease by allowing a kind smile to touch our lips.

"_Yes, we do." She hesitantly begins, and then continues. "You've been so kind to me. You've given up so much to help me and I feel as if I've betrayed you. Telling you that I am sorry seems so inadequate, but I am."_

"_Christine, you have done nothing that warrants an apology to me. The father of your son is not my Erik. The man you promised to love and whom pledged his love to you in return is not my Erik. My Erik left his home under the opera house the night Raoul forced you to choose between Erik's life and your freedom. It was on that night that he and I met. With the exception of the time he spent bringing you here, he and I have not been apart. Well, physically apart anyway. Right now, my body is with him, but my mind is with you. My Erik never made love to you, nor does he have any memory of loving you. The only emotions he feels for you are the love of a brother and guilt over failing to save you from Raoul. Of this, I am certain, so please do not think I hate you. I do not. Nor do I feel jealous."_

"_When he arrives here, will he know about Erik-Gustave?"_

"_No and I am afraid that I must leave that to you to tell him. I do have something that I would like to ask you."_

"_Of course, what would you like to know?"_

"_No, it's nothing like that. Would you be my matron of honor?"_

"_What?"_

"_I have no one here, no family except for Trystin. I've told you how I met Erik and that I am not from your world or time. There is no one I would rather have stand next to me than you when Erik and I wed. Please, Christine? Would you be my matron of honor? I would be so happy if you would."_

A radiant smile blesses the face in the mirror as she replies.

"_Yes and it is I who am honored. Oh, this is so exciting! I can't wait for you to arrive! I am going to give you the biggest hug you've ever had!"_

As if to demonstrate her wish, she wraps her arms tightly around her body and squeezes.

"_When will they arrive?"_

I close my eyes and reach out to Erik's mind.

"_They're close. I wouldn't be at all surprised if they arrived by tomorrow night."_

"_I'm so happy I can barely wait to see you again. I mean, this is nice, but, well, you must admit, it is rather strange."_

"_Strange? Yes, strange does describe it. However, the word I would use is weird, which means strange or unusual. It also means belonging to or suggesting the supernatural and relating to or influenced by fate, both of which are appropriate."_

"_Weird. It feels right. Alright, weird it is then!"_

"_Christine, there is one more thing I need to tell you."_

"_Why does this worry me?"_

"_You have no reason to worry. It is about your Erik."_

Her smile falters.

"_What about my Erik?"_

"_Just remember, my sister, love never dies and loving someone can never be a bad thing. As long as we remember them, they are never really gone. I know you would prefer being able to touch him, but you will meet with him again. Rest assured of that. I promise."_

"_You can promise me that?"_ She whispers.

"_Oh, yes. I most definitely can. Also, please do not feel guilt over your feelings for Etienne. Loving Etienne does not betray Erik. He is gone. He would not wish for you to spend the rest of your life alone, nor would he wish for his son to grow up without a father. I am certain that in lieu of being here himself, he would approve of your relationship with Etienne. Etienne is a good man, Christine. You are good for one another."_

"_Yes, I think he is very special."_

"_Well, I expect you to return the favor to me someday."_

"_Favor, Chris? What favor is that?"_

"_I expect you to ask me to be your matron of honor when the two of you marry."_

I grin as the face in the mirror blushes beet red and she giggles.


	71. A Parting of the Ways

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse – A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Seventy-One – A Parting of the Ways**

"_Chris, it is time. I have been very selfish in keeping you from Erik. I feel how much you need to be with him and realize he must feel the same about you. I cannot allow my selfishness to hold you here any longer. I can never thank you enough for everything that you've done for me. I am certain that you changed the course of my life by being the one to speak with Raoul. If I had spoken with him, I do not believe the results would have been as favorable. I am certain that my constant indecisiveness would have goaded Raoul into anger and then I would have backed into my normal silence and just returned home with him. Now my future and the future of my children are secure. Raoul is gone and promises to leave me alone. You need not stay within me any longer. I will be all right. Besides, you should be arriving here at the house within the next day, so it's not as if we won't be seeing one another again."_

I look up into the mirror once again. Being able to speak to our reflection provides me with the illusion of holding a conversation with another, separate person. Although Christine and I have not spoken of it, choosing to ignore the growing need, I have come to realize that the longer we share this body, the more our spirits begin to surrender to one another in an urge to merge into one being. An impulse both of us know we cannot allow. With a mental shove, I push the need to the side and it obeys, for the moment.

"_I need to give Christine something to help keep her strong after I am gone."_ I think privately.

An idea arises. I turn and walk to the door leading to Theresa's small room. I knock softly. After a moment, the girl opens the door.

"Can you watch over Erik-Gustave, please? I should only be away about an hour or so."

"Oui, Madame. I am pleased to be of assistance to you. The babe is no trouble at all. He is such a sweet child."

"Thank you, Theresa."

We nod and leave the room.

"_Where are we going?"_

"_Hush, Christine. Will you trust me, please?"_

"_Chris, you do not even need to ask. Of course I will trust you."_

In silence, I guide this body that does not belong to me through the hallways and down the stairs to the foyer pausing only for an instant; I allow instinct to guide me. Turning about, I head down a hall off the foyer, which leads away from the study and dining room into an unused part of the chateau. At the end of the hall, I stop before a large, dark oak door. The door handle is a ring and it requires all of our strength and both hands to pull it open. Removing a torch from the wall, we enter the room.

"_It's the ballroom."_ Christine breathes. _"It's like something out of a fairy tale. It is so beautiful."_

"_Yes."_ I agree. _"We are not here to dance though. Christine, you have always learned best when you were learning about music. I have something I wish to teach you. May I?"_

"_Do you really need to ask? Please, Chris. Rather, please, Maestro."_

"Thank you, my dear." I murmur.

We walk around the ballroom, briefly touching the torch we carry to those on the walls of the room. The room soon is ablaze with the light of many torches. Quickly, I return the torch to its place in the hall and return to the ballroom, closing the door behind us. We lean against the door. Then after giving a small sigh, I lead us to the dais near the back of the room. Moonlight streams through the tall, mullioned multi-paned windows, which run along the rear of the dais. It is here on this dais that the musicians play as the revelers dance. There are several chairs and music stands here as well as the object, which brought me to this room in the first place, a grand piano. A dust sheet covers the piano, which I remove with a quick tug and toss to the floor. I lift the lid of the piano case and raise the support, then walk to the bench and sit. I open the keyboard, lift my hands to the keys and rest my fingers lightly upon the keys in a soft caress.

"_Christine, what I teach you now is not proper breathing technique, not proper inflection nor, tonal quality. What I teach you tonight is emotional content. You must trust your emotions, your passions. You must believe in yourself. You must not allow the fear of making a mistake to cause you to make a mistake of an even grander scale, the mistake of allowing someone else to choose for you. Your indecision has always been your undoing. Listen and remember. You will never be alone again. For I leave a small part of me with you. When you feel afraid, lonely or unsure, remember this. I believe it will help you."_

♫ ♪ ♫

Closing my mind's eye, I grant my now restless fingers their freedom and they begin the hauntingly grand introduction to the piece I hope will bring Christine comfort whenever she feels she has a need. I open my mouth and the lyrics flow through me with heart-felt passion into the quiet night of the chateau. I feel Christine listening intently, but soon my awareness of her fades, leaving only the music, just as it always does.

"_When you're weary, feeling small,  
when tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all.  
I'm on your side when times get rough.  
And friends just can't be found  
like a bridge over troubled water  
I will lay me down.  
Like a bridge over troubled water,  
I will lay me down._

_When you're down and out  
when you're on the street  
when evening falls so hard  
I will comfort you.  
I'll take your part.  
Oh, when darkness comes  
and pain is all around,  
like a bridge over troubled water  
I will lay me down.  
Like a bridge over troubled water,  
I will lay me down._

_Sail on silver girl,  
Sail on by.  
Your time has come to shine.  
All your dreams are on their way.  
See how they shine.  
Oh, if you need a friend,  
I'm sailing right behind.  
Like a bridge over troubled water,  
I will ease your mind.  
Like a bridge over troubled water,  
I will ease your mind."_

– _**Music and Lyrics by Simon & Garfunkel**_

As the last note fades into memory, I find myself trembling with exhaustion and feel a bemused smile appear fleetingly across my lips.

"_At least I put everything I have into it. Let's return to our room. I need a short rest and then we can continue our discussion, okay?"_

"_Whatever you need, Chris is fine with me. Here, let me. I'll get us back to our room. Don't worry about a thing."_

As she speaks those words, I smile and nod.

"_She's going to be all right."_ One last private thought before I open my mind to sleep.

♫ ♪ ♫

I awaken to hear Christine humming a gentle tune as she sits in a rocking chair and works on her son's christening gown. Her fingers deftly work the crochet hook and thread and I am embarrassed when my stretch interrupts her rhythm.

"_So, you are awake, Chris. Thank you for the song. It is beautiful. I will always remember it and use it whenever I feel the need."_

"_You're welcome, Christine."_

"_So, let's do this before you arrive here at the chateau, shall we?"_

"_Very well, just be very sure you have no doubts, no backward glances."_

She surprises me with a rather unladylike snort at my obvious use of one of Erik's favorite lyrical phrases.

"_I am ready to be on my own, but I want to give you a gift before we split apart."_

"_A gift? That really isn't necessary."_

"_I know it is not, but it is what I truly wish to do."_

"_Far be it from me to turn down a present, but can't you just wait until I arrive to give it to me?"_

"_It's not that kind of gift. It's something personal, a little part of me."_

"_Hmm … that gives me an idea. I, too, would like to give you a parting gift."_

We suddenly find lovely gift-wrapped boxes in our hands. I read the name tag on the box I hold and it says, "Christine de Chagny."

"_This is for you, little sister."_

"_And, this is for you, big sister."_

We exchange the boxes and giggle slightly as we stand facing one another for a moment.

"_Well, you need to open the box before I leave as I am afraid it will disappear the moment I leave."_

She replies, _"Then the same is true for you."_

Her hand falls to the bow and she pulls it. I turn my attention to the box from Christine, sliding the satin ribbon off the box and ripping the delicate floral pattern paper from the box. I open the box and find reams and reams of paper. Each paper contains the lyrics and vocal instructions for every opera Christine has ever learned.

"_Oh, my Christine, thank you so much. Thank you!"_

While I know that I will never be able to match her in the upper octaves, I now carry with me the knowledge of the spoken as well as lyrical dialogs of some truly wonderful operas.

I watch Christine as she opens the box containing my gift. She pulls three books from the box, reads the titles and begins to laugh huskily.

"_The Confidence Plan: How to Build a Stronger You"by Tim Ursiny, "Tao of Jeet Kune Do" by Bruce Lee and "Unconditional Love: Love Without Limits"by John Joseph Powell. Okay, I get the messages, Chris and I promise that I will remember everything you taught me about self-defense."_

"_You'd better remember and you need to pass it on to your daughters. Don't ever let them think that it's okay to be a victim. Make sure they know that silence is the greatest ally of abuse and speech its deadliest enemy. Teach by example, Christine. Your life is the example for them. You have a lot of damage to repair, but you can do it. You are stronger than you know. Women can do anything that men can. It just sometimes takes us a little longer when we have to plan on how to move the heavy stuff."_

"_You are crazy, Chris. You do know that don't you?"_

"_I beg your pardon! I resemble that remark!"_

After a confused moment, understanding flashes into her eyes and she laughs.

We reach for one another not completely ready to separate. We sink to the floor of Christine's bedroom and hold one another, preparing ourselves for the inevitable and necessary separation. I glance into the mirror and see our reflection. Christine sits cross-legged on the floor with her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. She sits and holds herself as her body rocks gently back and forth.

Together, we close our eyes for the last time.

"_Fare thee well, Christine!"_

"_Bon au revoir, Chris!"_


	72. Yule be a Man

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse – A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Seventy-Two – Yule be a Man**

The five of us arrived at Rennes station nearly one week ago, Nadir, Christine, Henrí, Miriam and me. I noted rather sadly that Miriam had once more withdrawn into her shell. Miriam is a shy girl and at first had been rather in awe of the vivacious Christine. Then as the two women started to confide in one another, she had blossomed, but as my wife began to withdraw into herself, so did Miriam. Therefore, I arrived with not one, but two ghostly women in tow. Even the irrepressible Henri was subdued. Only Nadir seemed unaffected, but only to those not acquainted with the man. I, who know him rather well, am aware that the more he chatters, the more melancholy his mood.

In retrospect, I am unsure as to my reasoning, but I in a sudden rush of certainty felt compelled to instruct Bruno to direct the carriage to the front of the Church of Saint-Etienne and Saint-Augustin. Perhaps I wished for a reminder of a happier time or perhaps, I hoped to wring or arrest some spark of emotion from Christine. I know not. In a karmic coincidence of almost cosmic proportions (now, as my Christine might say, that is one verbosely cool turn of phrase! Wow!) we arrived in front of the church at nearly the same time of night as the night Christine and I wed. I rapped on the roof of the carriage compartment, signaling Bruno to bring the carriage to a halt.

I called out to Bruno. "We shall not be long." Then including the occupants of the carriage, I continued. "All of you are welcome to accompany us, should you wish."

I cast my eye about the interior of the carriage to take in their responses to my invitation. Miriam immediately demurred and after she cast, what appeared to me, a warning glance at Henrí, he, too, declined. Only Nadir accepted my invitation to join Christine and me.

"I have never been inside a Catholic Church. I visited a Lutheran Church once, though. I found it frightfully dark and dull. I have always thought that God as the acknowledged creator of all things must also be the ultimate artist and as such, his place of worship should reflect that. Unless I am mistaken, I believe the Catholics have no aversion to displaying things of beauty in their churches. Am I correct in this belief or do I hold a false assumption, Erik?"

"You are quite correct. Catholic Churches range from simple to ornate, but cathedrals range from the exquisite to the subliminally divine in their design and execution. St. Peter's Basilica in Rome and the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris are but two examples, which come immediately into my mind. Shall we alight and you can form your own opinion, Daroga."

I wave my hand to the carriage door, indicating he should exit first. With a nod of acknowledgement, Nadir opens the door and climbs down from the carriage. He wanders away, his gaze riveted upwards on the sight before him. Next, I slide my length through the carriage door and the moment my feet find purchase on solid ground, I turn my attention to assisting Christine. My body starts as if struck by a bolt of lightning and my breath hisses from my mouth. For as I turned to hold out my hand to Christine and looked up into her lovely face, for an instant almost frozen in time, just the briefest of moments, I would have sworn an oath that her eyes contained an awareness of her surroundings or, maybe, an emotion of some type. She accepted my hand and alighted from the carriage. When she raised her face, the moment was gone or I had imagined it. Her face was as beautiful and blank as that of a porcelain doll.

"_It must have been a trick of the light and shadow in the carriage. I feel so much worse now that I have been with Christine and known her pleasures, so much worse than before I met her. Before, I longed for the unknown. Now, I have tasted heaven and been consigned to hell. I want her! I need her back!"_

A sigh escapes my lips, which catches Nadir's attention and he raises an inquiring eyebrow.

"Is everything alright, Erik?"

"No, it's not alright. Everything is the same as it has been for the last 19 days. I thought I saw something in her face, but I must have imagined it. I just want her back and I don't know what to do!"

"Erik …."

I raise my hand commanding him to stop from saying all of the things I already know.

"I know, I know! There is nothing to do, but sit and wait. It's just so damn hard waiting, especially when I see her like this day after day."

"Um, Erik …I think …."

"Please, Nadir …."

"Excuse me, Erik, why are you waiting?"

"Is that supposed to be amusing?"

The words leap from my mouth in a growl as I turn to face the source of that inane question. I whip about and find myself choking on the words about to spill from my lips in an angry tirade.

"Erik, why are you staring at me like that?"

"Oh, Christine …."

♥○♥○♫○♪○♫○♥○♥

Stunned does not come close to expressing the state of my emotions when I realize that Christine is the one who dares to speak those confrontational words. Her hazel-green eyes flash with mischief as her sharp mind quickly assesses the situation and correctly interprets the cause of my growl. Our eyes meet and I quite unexpectedly find my arms filled with Christine as she launches herself into me. Her arms wrap tightly about my waist and her body presses firmly against mine.

"Erik! Oh, I've missed you so very much!"

She raises her face from my chest, her eyes glistening with unshed tears of joy and her trembling lips part slightly. I feel as if I am falling as my eyes lock with hers, my lips crash against hers with unrestrained passion. Without either of us showing the slightest bit of hesitation, we immediately deepen our kiss as our lips part and our tongues dart in and out of one another's mouths. I run my hands up and down her sides, up into her hair and down to push her bottom firmly against my arousal. She rocks her hips against me, a cry of excitement escapes her lips and a groan of desire bursts from mine. I shudder as Christine's caressing hand begins to snake its way down my chest. I groan, eagerly anticipating the touch her hand on my hard flesh even if it is through the barrier of clothing. Intent on thrusting her hand between our bodies to caress my heated flesh, she is unaware of our audience, but the sound of someone clearing their throat rips my attention away from our burning flesh and back to our surroundings. Her eyes open and fix upon mine as I gently take hold of her wrist. I raise it to my lips and kiss the inside of her wrist. Her breath hisses raggedly and my kiss-swollen lips press against her sensitive skin.

Again, I hear the sound of a clearing throat. Without releasing my hold on Christine, I speak to the man.

"Yes, Daroga, you wanted to say something?"

His embarrassment evident in the tone of his voice, I cannot help but chuckle wickedly.

"_It is amazing how quickly my mood improves when you are by my side."_

"_Erik, have you been difficult while I was gone?"_ She scolds me lightly.

"I suppose this means we aren't going to visit the church." Nadir sighs.

"There really isn't any need for us to do so now." I begin, but Christine's thoughts and Nadir's voice interrupts me.

"_Dearest, who is this adorable, pouting man?"_

"No, I suppose not." Nadir replies dejectedly. "So, Erik, are you going to introduce me to your lady wife? Or, will you force me to do it myself?"

♥○♥○♫○♪○♫○♥○♥

It is early morning, Christmas morning, probably no later than 3:00 a.m. The entire chateau lies blanketed under a heavy mantle of soft, white snow. The snow flakes dampen the normal nighttime sounds as they fall gently from the nighttime sky. I lie on my back staring at the ceiling and listen to the comforting sounds of the fire popping and crackling. I am tired, yet I am unable to sleep. At 1:00 p.m. today, Christine and I pledge our troth to one another before God, family and friends. After today, I will never sleep alone again; no social conventions can force me to skulk from my wife's bed during the pre-dawn hours and settle my bones in a cold, lonely bed. This morning is the last time I shall awake alone!

"_If I can ever get to sleep tonight."_

I sigh and turn over. Closing my eyes, the events of the past week rush through my mind. The nights of frenzied, passionate lovemaking with Christine have been the highlight of my week. The low point was when I learned the identity of Erik-Gustave's father. Knowing that the man I thought of as "The Opera Ghost" was the child's father, shocked me to my very core. I still am at a loss to explain how I could be completely unaware of his relationship with Christine de Chagny. I should have known what happened between them when our spirits joined, but I had nothing, no hint that their relationship was anything other than platonic. It has been extremely difficult accepting the fact that the Opera Ghost had an affair with Christine de Chagny and that the result of their affair, was a child. This knowledge plagues me with unpleasant feelings of guilt against which my mind rages. Logically, I know I am not, cannot be the babe's father, but … my heart whispers to me and it tells me that part of me is. I still feel no physical attraction to Christine de Chagny and know that I never will. There is no possibility of that ever occurring, as I would never – could never – love another as I love my wife. My love for her completes me in my mind, body and soul. Thankfully, my Christine truly seems to have no issue with the child's paternity. When I had attempted to discuss this subject with her, she had simply looked into my eyes, smiled and told me she loves me and she knows that I love her. She silenced any further discussion of the matter by placing her lips upon mine. I smile that had been earlier that night, before we had made love and before I had needed to return to my room. Christine said that it was bad luck for us to see one another before our wedding. She was only making two exceptions from this tradition, Christmas breakfast and opening the presents afterwards.

"_I am a very lucky man."_

"_You won't be if you are so tired tomorrow night that you fall asleep on our wedding night!"_

Christine's voice scolds me through our bond even though her body rests in another room in the chateau.

"_Erik, please go to sleep. I am tired and your thoughts are keeping me awake. I do not wish to look like a raccoon at our wedding! No more, please? Go to sleep. Now!"_

"_Far be it for me to deny you anything, ma chère cœur. I shall sleep now."_

I wince as I hear her grumbled response.

"_It's about fucking time!"_

Without further prompting, I act the part of the dutiful husband and go to sleep.

♥○♥○♫○♪○♫○♥○♥

Today is the first Christmas I have spent as a part of a family. Unfortunately, I feel that I remember very little of the blur that was my day. I remember waking to Christine and Trystin pouncing on me, dragging me half-asleep from bed as I grabbed a robe and followed my giggling girls downstairs to the dining room. Christine de Chagny, Erik-Gustave and my father were already in the dining room waiting for us. Christine had commandeered the kitchen and made her traditional Christmas breakfast of pancakes and sausages, which we quickly devoured.

As soon as we finished eating, we moved to my father's study where Santa had paid our home a visit. There was a tall tree decorated with balls of colored glass, satin bows and small toys and lit with dozens of candles. I remember the tree clearly, but after that, my memories are fragmented blurs. I could feel that this Christmas was a bittersweet one for my Christine, as she believed it to be the last one she could expect to celebrate with Trystin believing in Santa Claus, but my dear heart persevered. We exchanged and opened our gifts. We sang Christmas carols and toasted the yuletide with eggnog. My Christine lay on her stomach with her chin cupped in her hands before the roaring fire of the study's large fireplace and read the two books she had packed from her home library just for this occasion. She did not really need the books, as she could recite them both from memory, but Trystin loved the illustrations and I must confess that I thought Christine looked so cute laying on the floor reading to all of us. The first story one written in her time, so I did not know it. The name of the book is, "The Polar Express." The second book is one that I was familiar with, "'Twas the Night before Christmas." The first book was special to them because of the story. The second story, it was the book itself, that held special meaning to them. It was a pop-up, glow-in-the-dark edition of the story. Trystin knew this story so well that she sat next to her mother and recited it from memory. All too soon, it was over and the women had to rush off to prepare themselves for the wedding.

It was a lovely Christmas.

♥○♥○♫○♪○♫○♥○♥

And a lovelier wedding, I think.

My father had outdone himself. I told him that I trusted him and had left the preparations for our wedding in his hands. When I walked into the chapel, I remember that the first thing I had seen was the huge stained glass window above the chapel's altar. The second thing I remember was the smell of roses. Everywhere I looked, there were bouquets of long-stem red and white roses. Red and white rose petals covered the aisle leading down the center of the chapel. I remember walking down the aisle to take my place next to the priest. I was pleasantly surprised to see that my father brought the very same priest that married us six weeks ago. I stand next to the young priest and realize that I had been such a mess back then, that I never asked the poor man for his name.

I lean and make my inquiry of the man.

"My name is Father Marc du Paul."

Acknowledging his name with a small nod, I continue to stare nervously at the chapel's doorway.

Father du Paul would once again perform the ceremony joining Christine and I in the bonds of holy wedlock. The chapel glowed awash with the light of hundreds of candles my father had instructed be placed about the room. I stood near the altar with the priest on my right and Nadir on my left waiting for the music, which would signal my bride's march up the aisle. I could feel Nadir's gaze darting up to my face and then quickly away. Only to feel him drawn back again and again. After what seemed like several minutes of this, I could take it no longer. I turned to him and impatiently whispered.

"What?"

Embarrassed, his eyes dropped to the floor, so I repeated this time more gently.

"Nadir, what is it?"

I call him by his first name so rarely that my use of it immediately caused him to look up at me and I give him a small nod of encouragement. The dark man pulls himself erect and his hands run along the lapels of his suit jacket to smooth them. He holds his hands at his waist, wets his lips and whispers.

"Please take my words in the spirit of this happy day, no hidden meanings, no criticisms intended. We have known one another for many years and never have I thought to see you happy, Erik. You reveled in the darkness, but now I see you and you are truly happy. You have stepped into the light of love's embrace. On this most auspicious occasion, I extend to you my wish that you and Christine find a life together with only the best of times, my friend, only the best of times for the rest of your lives."

He spoke in hushed tones, as befitting of a place of worship. As he finished, an unfamiliar emotion swelled within my chest. I placed my hand on Nadir's shoulder, looked into his dark brown eyes and gave him a gentle nod of my head to let him know how much I appreciated his words. He gave me a rueful smile.

"So, let's see if your bride will actually go through with this or if she will come to her senses and run like hell as far from here as possible."

"I do not find you the least bit amusing, Daroga."

The graceful strains of violins playing the _"String Quartet in C Major, Opus 76, No. 3 – II Poco adagio, Cantabile (Emperor's Hymn")_ by Joseph Haydn wind their way through the chapel, immediately my attention focused on the arched doorway.

I heard Nadir's response, but my mind did not process the words until a day or so later.

"Yes, well, I find you fairly hysterical, Erik."

♥○♥○♫○♪○♫○♥○♥

Trystin, our flower girl, was the first to walk up the aisle. She wore a simple floor-length sheath of green and carried a white basket filled with red and white rose petals. Her long, black hair pulled back into a French braid, she slowly skipped up the aisle tossing huge handfuls of petals into the air and flashing a brilliantly happy smile at everyone. Next, came Christine holding Erik-Gustave, our ring-bearer. Christine was lovely in a scoop neck ball gown of green, as did all of her bridesmaids, in her arms she held Erik-Gustave in his ivory christening gown. Christine held a small, red, satin pillow with our wedding bands tied to its center, balanced across the babe's stomach. The babe did not utter a sound as he enjoyed catching the pillow in his fists and shoving it into his mouth. Then, Miriam and Henrí appeared in the doorway and together they walked up the aisle arm-in-arm. Henrí in a black suit and Miriam in the green ball gown. Next, Cecile, who also wore the green ball gown, walked up the aisle.

The music stopped and the chapel, completely silent, it seemed everyone held their breath.

The last clear memory I have is of Christine appearing in the doorway. My dear heart stood poised outside the doorway, her arm linked through my father's arm as he prepared to escort her up the aisle in her wedding gown. Her gown of silver-blue shone softly in the flickering lights of the chapel's many candles. The gown's silver-blue reminds me of the way virgin snow appears under the cold, blue light of a wintertime full moon. Christine wears a simple, shoulder-length lace veil, which obscures her face from me. Here, truly, is my last sharp memory, Christine begins her journey to join me at the altar and as she enters the chapel, I notice that the dress' train goes on and on and on and on.

**(Author's Note: Christine's wedding gown is an actual historical gown. It is the 1896 Ceremonial Court Dress of Empress Alexandra Feodorovna of Russia. Bodice Length: 1'3", Skirt Length: 5'6.9" and Train Length: 13'2.7"! Hmmm…so, women are supposedly the weaker sex! Harrumph! Let's see a man try wearing that dress and hauling that train around while at the same time have a corset compress your lungs. Gee wiz! Fashion, you just gotta love it! Sorry! Now I shall return you back to your regularly scheduled program! --ny)**

♥○♥○♫○♪○♫○♥○♥

Standing before the vanity in my father's bathroom, I gaze into the mirror at my reflection, my mind awhirl with the emotions of this day. I am still unsure whether or not I my voice cooperated and provided Father with responses required by the ceremony. Since I now wear a bright yellow-gold wedding band on the third finger of my left hand and Christine did not behead me with her katana, I must have said all of the right things. I am now officially a married man and Christine, a married woman. We did it!

The soft sounds of feminine voices emanate from the bedroom where Miriam is helping my Christine remove her amazing and seemingly never-ending wedding gown and prepare for our wedding night. Not wishing to keep my bride waiting, I begin to remove the layers of clothing I donned for our wedding. When at last I have stripped all of the clothing from my body, I slip on my black silk pajama trousers and loosely knot the drawstring. Lastly, I grab my charcoal-gray silk kimono robe, throw it on and slackly fasten the belt about my waist. Walking to the door leading to the bedroom, I rap my knuckles against the door.

"Christine, are you ready? Madame de Mornay, may I enter?"

I wait for a moment then try knocking again.

"Christine? Hello?"

Placing my hand on the doorknob, I immediately feel Christine's presence on the other side of the door as her unquenchable spirit sends an erotic burst of shocks into my hand and up my arm. I increase my pressure on the crystal handle, which sends the sensual impulses up my arm where they crash into my spine. Turning the knob drives the carnal urges down my spine straight into my loins. Slowly, I begin to push open the door and as I push, the sparks of lust ignite, leaving me gasping at the overwhelming tautness of my ready desire. Suddenly, Christine roughly yanks the door open and I stumble into the bedroom. My bumbling entrance sends Christine into a fit of giggles.

"Oh, Erik, you're so adorable!" She pauses and gives me a considering look. "You did mean to do that, didn't you?"

Pulling myself up to my full height, I summon the old persona, the one, which requires me to become imperious and cold. I adopt a haughty exterior then turn my most arrogant stare upon her and reply.

"Of course I did! Do you think the Phantom of the Opera is a clumsy oaf? Of course not."

Her giggles become full-fledged guffaws as she responds to my perceived silliness. I allow my lips to curl into an evil smirk. She laughs and playfully responds.

"Erik? What do you think you are doing?"

When I do not join her laughter, it quickly subsides as she casts her narrowed eyes on me. She watches me circling her. Her head tilts slightly to one side, her eyes hooded by her thick lashes. She bites her bottom lip. I continue to walk around her until she raises her eyes to mine when I stop and hold out my hand to her. She begins to place her hand into mine, but hesitates. Leering at her, I give a sardonic lift of my eyebrow to goad her into action. She places her hand in mine, but her eyes reveal her confusion. Once more, she questions me, but now she is uncertain, her voice quiet and intense.

"Erik?"

"Silencieux, ma chère cœur. Ce soir il n'y aura aucun coup d'oeil en arrière. Ce soir, le rêve devient la vie vraie et réelle. Ma amour pour vous est pour maintenant et pour toujours. Nous sommes vraiment un." **(1.)**

As I capture her hand in mine and hold her eyes with mine, I allow a gentle, sincere smile to creep across my lips and the ice to thaw from my eyes. I caress the back of her hand with my thumb, which seems to awaken Christine from her entranced state.

"Ce soir, je vous offre mon amour, ma vie. Vous êtes mon jour, mon nuit, mon monde. Je vis dans vous. Votre haleine est la mienne. Votre joie, votre chagrin et tous mes tomorrows, je rejoins eux tous avec vous, mon plus chèr. Une vie, un amour." **(2.)**

We smile and drink of one another's essence through the chalice of our hearts, which pours forth from our eyes.

"The bed, ma chère cœur, it calls our names."

An impish smile curls her lips and wrinkles her adorable nose.

"I do believe you are correct, monsieur. Whatever could it want of us?"

"Why don't we go find out?"

We laugh then still holding hands, race to the bed and jump onto it.

♥○♥○♫○♪○♫○♥○♥

Much, much later … I am drifting into a contented sleep with my tousled wife half-sprawled and half-entangled around my body. My mind hovers in that odd place between wakefulness and sleep.

"_God is a strange being._

_God created the heavens and the earth separated the lands from the oceans and raised the sky overhead. God created all creatures, great and small. God created man in his image and likeness and created woman from man's rib to act as companion to man. God did all of these things, but I have a question. Why did God create man's obsession with women? Just a thought._

_Christine told me that a man's birth pushes him from a woman's womb. He then spends the rest of his life attempting to get back inside the womb. Another thought."_

My mind glides across the border into sleep.

♥○♥○♫○♪○♫○♥○♥

Sighing, I slip my nude body closer to my sleeping wife and gather her carefully into my arms. I press my erection into the firm, warm flesh of her rear. She unconsciously responds to my body by arching her back and grinding her bottom against my heated flesh. A low groan escapes my lips ….

"Oh, yes, my dear heart, help me make the music of the night!"

"I thought perhaps, that the music of the night might be a duet this night rather than an aria. That is, of course, if that is acceptable to the composer, my husband."

Her husky voice fairly purred in my ear.

"I cannot make that music without you, ma chère cœur. You are my muse after all."

"Nor, I without you, Erik."

"Well then, shall we?"

She answers me by turning over within the circle of my embrace so we now lie face to face. She draws me to her lips. At first, our lips touch in a gentle, chaste kiss. All too soon, the fires of passion ignite within our bodies and the gentle kisses rapidly grow hungry and passionate. My hands seemingly never satisfied, renew their endless quest to explore and map the entirety of my Christine's body.

"_I am insatiable … in my reckless need for her, in my wanton desire for her, in my immeasurable love for her. Insatiable, yet, like any other fool, I keep trying."_

The thought sends a smirk to my lips as I roll atop Christine and join with her once more.

"Oh, Christine …."

* * *

**Translations of the French dialogue**

**(1.)** Erik to Christine: "Quiet, my dear heart. Tonight there will be no backward glances. Tonight, the dream becomes true and real life. My love for you is for now and for always. We are truly one."

**(2.)** Christine to Erik: "Tonight, I offer you my love, my life. You are my day, my night, my world. I live in you. Your breath is mine. Your joy, your sorrow and all of my tomorrows, I join them all with you, my dearest. One life, one love."

(My apologies for any gramatical errors - the credit or blame goes to an online translator!)

* * *


	73. Six Octaves of Separaration

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse – A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Seventy-Three – Six Octaves of Separation**

"I can't help it! I'm just so damn nervous. If I don't stop biting my bottom lip, I think I'm gonna to pierce it pretty damn soon! What the hell is wrong with me?"

My voice sounds shrill to my ears, almost a shriek really. It is this more than anything else that calms me. Growing up with a mother whose favorite way of communicating with her six children was grandiose displays of screaming and yelling helped me to decide that whatever else I was when I grew up I would not be a screamer. Well, at least not outside of the bedroom, anyway. My exhibition of emotional flamboyance leaves me shocked and disgusted with myself. Just another reminder of the unforeseen aftereffects of my time spent as Christine's "roomie."

Muttering, I stop as soon as I realize that I'm talking to myself.

"Well, at least that's something I've always done. It's all me and none of her."

Sighing, I close my eyes and force myself to relax. Inhaling deeply then slowly releasing it, I bring my ragged breathing under control. I tilt my head back and roll it back and forth from shoulder to shoulder, left to right, right to left, and back again. One more cleansing breath and I open my eyes.

Time to sneak off to my private retreat. Christine had brought me here shortly after our return to Paris when I told her I needed a quiet place to practice. The painted figures on the walls are faded giving them a ghostly appearance.

I chuckle.

"How appropriate! The angels of music really are opera ghosts now."

Standing in the middle of the room, I allow my body to adjust itself into the proper stance. I pull out my tuning fork, give it a rap and hold it to my ear. Again. Concentrating on the tone, I listen intently, fixing the note in my memory. I replay the note in my head, making certain I can hear it clearly and then I sing it. Finally, I double-check my pitch by singing the note and tapping the tuning fork at the same time. After my impromptu 'sound check,' I slip the fork back into my pocket and then I begin my warm-up with scales. I smile as I run through the progressions. Why can't all of the aftereffects be like this one? This one, I like. This aftereffect is actually a dream com true. After a half an hour of scales, I'm satisfied … my voice is ready.

I open my score of the opera, "Lakmé" to page 151; this is the piece I intend to sing at my audition. I recheck my alteration of the variant on page 156. Each note is perfectly legible. There can be no question as to my intention if one is a musician or can read sheet music. I smile wickedly.

"_This should be fun!"_

"Madame de Mornay! Madame? You're next!"

The assistant stage manager is a young Englishman of medium height and build with wavy blonde hair that falls just past his shoulders. His bold, but pale blue eyes are in sharp contrast to the ruddy complexion of his face. Even I, who has only floated about the periphery of the opera house, am aware of his flirtatious nature and his reputation as a ladies' man. He reminds me of someone I used to know, but I can't quite place him. I give him a small nod of acknowledgement.

"Thank you, Jeffrey. I will take my place in the east wings momentarily."

Holding the score firmly under my arm, I leave the sanctuary of Christine's dressing room and make my way to the stage. I await my call in the wings.

♪◦♫◦♪◦♥◦♪◦♫◦♪◦

"**NEXT!"**

I calmly walk onto the front of the stage, withdraw my sheet music and hand it to the musical director, Monsieur Jacques Gaile. After bringing my alteration to his stunned attention, I straighten and return to center stage. After flashing my sweetest smile at the men I know are there, but cannot see due to the brilliant footlights, I begin my introduction.

"Mademoiselle Christine Maire, Contralto, Mezzo-Soprano, Soprano. The piece I perform for you today is from your opera, _"Lakmé," _Act 2, Scene 5, _"Through God's Inspiration, No. 10 Scene and Legend of the Pariah's Daughter"_ I begin immediately following the chorus line of _"Ecoutons la légende, écoutons!" _(**1.**) I choose to perform the variation, however, I have adapted the variation to demonstrate my vocal range. With your permission, please?"

Léo's voice booms from beyond the lights.

"By all means, Mademoiselle. You may proceed."

"Messieurs, my thanks for this opportunity to audition for you today. You may consider the stipulation of our contract fulfilled upon my completion of this aria."

I align my posture, take a cleansing breath in, release it, nod my head at M. Gaile to indicate my readiness, he raises his baton and mouths the words.

"On the down beat, Mam'selle."

Time seems to freeze, as if caught at the edge of a black hole's event horizon. My eyes remain fixed on M. Gaile's baton as he taps it against the top edge of his music stand. Now, there is complete silence, as he begins to draw the baton into the arc of his upbeat. Pausing only briefly as his eyes sweep across the pit, satisfied all eyes are on him, the baton falls and I begin.

"

Là-bas, dans la forêt plus sombre,  
quel est ce voyageur perdu?  
Autour de lui des yeux brillent dans l'ombre,  
il marche encor au hasard, éperdu.  
Les fauves rugissent de joie,  
ils vont se jeter sur leur proie.  
La jeune fille accourt et brave leurs fureurs,  
elle a dans sa main la baguette  
où tinte la clochette  
des charmeurs!

Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!"

Drawing a deep breath, I sing the next two notes of A6 and B6 then my voice takes wing and soars into Léo's coloratura variation by singing the notes of C6, D6 and the highest note of E6. I maintain my eye focus on the auditorium rather than following my natural inclination of allowing my eyes to close. After all, the part requires acting as well as singing. I hold E6 for the briefest of moments, before beginning my dive. My voice plunges from E6, D6, C6, B6, A6, G5, F5, E5, D5, C5, B5, A5, G4, F4, E4. This is the note that ends the variant, but I continue on as my voice plummets ever lower D4, C4, B4, A4, G3, F3, E3, D3, C3, B3, A3, G2, F2, E2, D2, C2, B2, A2, G1, F1 and finally, E1, which I hold for one count. I am silent for the remaining three counts of the measure as well as the next three measures. After 15 counts, I ready my breath and after two additional counts I continue.

"_L'étranger la regarde,  
elle reste éblouie.  
Il est plus beau que les Rajahs!  
Il rougira, s'il sait qu'il doit la vie  
à la fille des Pariahs.  
Mais lui, l'endormant dans un rêve,  
jusque dans le ciel il l'enlève,  
en lui disant : ta place est là!  
C'était Vichnou, fils de Brahma!  
Depuis ce jour, au fond des bois,  
le voyageur entend parfois  
le bruit léger de la baguette  
où tinte la clochette des charmeurs.  
Où tinte la clochette des charmeurs._

_Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah!...  
Ah!...  
Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah!...  
Ah!...  
Ah! Ah!  
Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah!...  
Ah!...  
Ah!...  
Ah!...  
Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!  
**Ah!** Ah! Ah! Ah!  
Ah!  
_**_Ah!"_ (2.)**

I briefly hit E6 near the end of the aria before ending on B6, which I hold for six counts, fading on the final two. I wait patiently as the orchestra completes the final eleven measures before I slowly drop into a deep curtsey, allowing my face to fall into the front of my full skirt.

Silence fills the auditorium. I swear I cannot even hear movement coming from the orchestra pit, after an eternity of silence I raise my head. The first person I see is M. Gaile, nodding his approval and smiling broadly.

"Brava! Brava, Mam'selle. Bravisima!"

A streak of darkness catches my eye and I turn to see Erik leaping onto the stage. He runs to me.

"I had no idea …."

His expression confuses me. He appears embarrassed, but I cannot speak to him as Léo Delibes' voice booms out of the dark auditorium.

"Damn, woman! If I'd known you could sing like that I would have written it just that way. Where have you been?"

Other male voices speak effusive words of praise, but I only have eyes for my Erik.

"So, did I do okay?"

"Surely, you jest, Madame de Mornay? You have left me quite speechless. Why did you never tell me that your range is six octaves?"

I smile shyly at my husband.

"Well, dearest, you never asked."

* * *

French to English Translations_  
_**(1.)**

**(2.)**

"Where goes the maiden straying,  
child of the pariah band?  
When the moonlight is playing  
amid the forests grand.  
When the moonlight is playing  
amid the forests grand.  
Tripping light o'er the mosses,  
never remembers she  
that a hate over crosses  
the Pariah's progeny.  
Tripping light o'er the mosses,  
the Maiden wanders free.  
Through the pink oleanders  
with her sweet thoughts she wanders. Ah!  
She moves on with steps light, and laughs out at the  
night, at the night.

Down there, where shades more deep are glooming,  
what traveler's that, alone astray?  
Around him flame bright eyes, dark depths illuming,  
but on he journeys, as by chance, on the way!  
The wolves in their wild joy are howling,  
as if for their prey they were prowling;  
the young girl forward runs,  
and doth their fury dare.  
A ring in her grasp she holds tightly,  
whence tinkles a bell, sharply, lightly,  
a bell that tinkles lightly,  
that charmers wear.

Ah! (And so on…)

While the stranger regards her  
stands she dazed, flush'd and glowing.  
More hand-some than the Rajas, he!  
Yet with a blush, he'll learn his life he's owing  
to the Pariah's fair progeny,  
but he, in a dream her enfolding,  
'till to heaven she soars in his holding,  
to her he says, "Your mead is won."  
It was Vishnu, the great Brahma's son!  
And since the day in that dark wood,  
the trav'ler hears, where Vishnu stood,  
the sound of a lit-tle bell ring-ing,  
the legend back to him bringing,  
a small bell ring-ing  
like those charmers wear.

Ah! (And so on…)"

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, that was difficult and at the same time fun. I went on eBay and found both the score and a libretto of _"Lakmé."_ Both were published in 1883! The libretto is written entirely in French and the score is in English. The part of this chapter that I like the best is that Christine alteration of the score...well, I created that! And, the absolute best thing is I believe it would work - as long as you have someone with a range of six octaves to sing it for you!**

**Here's a bit of trivia...the Guiness World Book of Records state that a young woman from Brazil holds the record for having the widest vocal range. Her name is Georgia Brown and she has a vocal range of 8 (!) octaves!**

* * *


	74. As Granted

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse – A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

** **Chapter Seventy-Four – As Granted**

Once again, I find that in my anticipation of hearing my former pupil perform, I overlooked the one person with whom I am closest, my wife. The last several weeks I spent every waking moment working with Christine to prepare her to audition for the role of Lakmé. Not once did I consider that my dear heart might wish for me to work with her. The thought had not even crossed my mind and, while I am proud of her, I am ashamed of myself.

This is not the first time that her ability caught me off-guard. However, I determine to make it the last time.

The first time I noticed her lovely voice was the ill-fated afternoon of her assault by M. Gille. I attempt to console myself that his attack on her person diverted my attention away from her voice, but I can make no excuse for my behavior now.

I watch as she receives praise from the previously unseen men in the audience: Léo Delibes; the managers of the opera house, Messieurs Barnabe Erickson and Bartolommeo Donato; and Edmond Gondinet. Fortunately, Phillipe Gille is not in attendance this afternoon, however, I have seen him skulking about the backstage on several previous occasions. I am unsure as to whether or not he is aware that Christine and I have wed. I can only hope for all of our sakes that the man is not foolish enough to lay hands on my wife again.

Shaking off the unpleasant thoughts, I return to observing my wife. She appears genuinely surprised at the attention her audition has garnered. I can feel a quiet pride and deeply satisfied pleasure emanating from her. Strangely, at least to my mind, I feel no hurt, no jealousy from her. I am saddened to think of her voice relegated to the chorus so many times that she had long ago accepted it as her due. The greatness of her voice taken as granted, not gift.

"I see no need for further auditions."

Those words snap me from my reverie and I focus my attention on the group, curious as to the identity of the person who spoke them. I smile.

♥○♫○♪○♫○♥

"_I should have known."_

Léo lumbering over to Christine brings to my mind thoughts of a giant bear and a tiny ballerina dancing together. He places his beefy hand on her delicate shoulder, as he turns to face the small assembly his hand directs Christine towards the group.

"I see no need to look any further. Here is our Lakmé! Mademoiselle Christine Maire!"

There is scattered applause and several shouts of "Huzzah!" I watch in astonishment as Christine begins frantically shaking her head and she removes Léo's hand from her shoulder. She begins to back away from the crowd, her head still shaking and raising her hands as if to ward off the crowd.

"No." She speaks softly then clears her throat before continuing. "No. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart, but it was never my intention to audition for the part of Lakmé. I would be content with the role of Mallika." She looks at Léo. "Truly … please?"

A sudden insight into my wife's dilemma flares into my mind. She is uncomfortable here for three reasons: one is M. Gille, two is the opera ghost and three is her empathy. I curse all three for causing her hurt and denying the world the gift of her voice.

The bemused big bear of a man looks down at the diminutive woman and smiles wryly.

"If that is what you wish, ma petit. Consider it done." With a flourish, he performs a courtly bow.

She nods and flashes him a brilliant smile of thanks. He gently releases her arm and turns away. Our eyes meet. He gives a small shake of his head.

"Such a shame! She is perfect for Lakmé. She has a youthful appearance and is the right height, weight and voice for the role. Most lyric coloraturas are of a more mature age than Christine." He pauses. "So, do we have any other candidates to audition for Lakmé?"

"One … Christine Daae. She is available to audition now. I thought it best as we are all here and we will not have to struggle with our schedules again. Would you like me to fetch her?"

"That would be best, but Erik, you do not need to fetch her."

The man swings his head about as he searches the shadows.

"Ahhh! Jeffrey, my good fellow, please fetch Ms. Daae from her dressing room. Would you inform her that we are ready for her audition, so she should bring her audition piece?"

The young man saunters off the stage heading in the direction of Christine's dressing room and at the same time, another man smirks as he watches from the shadows ….


	75. By the Hand of Fate

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse – A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Seventy-Five – By the Hand of Fate**

The young man saunters off the stage heading in the direction of Christine's dressing room and at the same time, another man smirks as he watches from the shadows….

"_Erik! Erik!"_

My wife's frantic voice fills my mind. She stands laughing and talking quietly at center stage, surrounded by the patrons and managers of the opera house, yet within her mind she cries out to me.

"_I am here, calm yourself! What is wrong?"_

"_I feel there is someone here. Someone is watching and waiting for Christine. Please go watch over her. I … I am not sure, but she may be in danger."_

I hear her sigh.

"_Are you all right, my love?"_

Another sigh.

"_Just a bit of a headache. I think I will go lie down in my dressing room and take a short nap. Hopefully, when I awake, my headache will be gone. Tylenol, Tylenol, where forth art thou, Tylenol?"_

Hearing her voice become thick with melodrama as she performs the mock-Shakespearean soliloquy, Erik pictures his woeful-eyed wife flinging her arm across her forehead as she delivers her line. This image of his wife dressed as Juliette in her dressing gown upon the balcony stirs him. For the last several weeks, they had both been so exhausted that their marriage bed had simply become a place to sleep. Her voice interrupts his thoughts.

"_Dearest? Christine? Danger? Please check on her and I will be waiting for you in my dressing room. Perhaps, you can distract me from my headache?"_

"_I will ensure Christine's safety and then shall endeavor to relieve you of your pain, my dearest heart."_

As I take my leave, I see my wife doing the same. She exits stage right and I from stage left. My last sight of her is of her retreating form. I admire the lithe form of the petite dark-haired woman who wears a crimson and orange sari with a transparent veil of sky blue covering her head.

"_She even went to the trouble of finding authentic Indian clothing. Strange … no one made a single comment on her costume."_

I shake my head wistfully.

"_Her voice so enchanted us that it was the only thing of which we took notice."_

Her graceful swaying step further arouses me as she walked into the west wings. I hasten my step, determined to quickly check on Christine and then hurry to my wife's side.

I instantly abandon the lascivious thoughts of my wife as I hear Christine's ear-splitting soprano shriek. At once, I break into a run, reaching the dressing room in record time. Grasping the door jamb, I swing myself into the doorway … only to find Christine in the act of delightedly throwing her arms around the neck of a man and the man drawing her into his embrace.

"WHAT THE HELL? ARE YOU TRYING TO LOSE YOUR VOICE?"

My voice thunders over the happy murmurings of the couple before me. I stop and clear my throat, embarrassed. Then begin again, this time my voice calm and quiet.

"Christine, the managers and patrons are ready for you to audition. They would like you to report to the stage now and bring your arrangement with you."

The man, barely loosening his hold on Christine, turns towards me. I swear lightly under my breath.

"Etienne! It is good to see you! I had no idea you would be arriving today. From the sound of the rather loud shriek and her look of delight, I take it Christine had no idea as well."

I walk to the couple and clap my hand to the man's shoulder.

"Damn good to see you, sir!"

Looking from Christine and back to Etienne, I smirk and sigh exasperatedly.

"Christine! Audition time."

Glancing about her room, my eyes seek and then find the folder containing her sheet music. Picking it up from her vanity, I check it and then hand it to her.

"Here, you need to bring this with you."

My eyes meet my friend's eyes and I can see his happiness. I am glad for the two of them, but now all I want is to be with my wife and nothing more.

"Sir, would you do me the honor of escorting Madame to her audition? My wife is not feeling well and I would like to attend her as soon as possible."

"It would be my pleasure, Monsieur le Comte!"

He turns to Christine, with a mischievous light in his eyes, his voice no more than a rumbling hum in her ear.

"As long as Madame has no objections to me acting as her escort…."

His rumble fades and the couple sighs contentedly, their heads resting forehead to forehead.

Christine sighs.

"Monsieur le Docteur, would you…."

"Say no more, Madame! I would be honored! Allow me."

With a smile, he offers his arm to her and she graciously accepts it, entwining their limbs together. Satisfied that Christine is in good hands, I beat a hasty retreat from their increasingly preoccupied presence.

The desire the two exuded had further enflamed my own lust and I hurried towards my wife's dressing room.

"_I hope the divan in there is larger than the last one."_

♥◦♦◦♥◦♦◦♥

Pleasantly anticipating the next several hours, I knock upon her door … I hear only silence. I knock again. Once again, silence. Cautiously opening the door, I frown. The room is empty. I call out to her anyway.

"Christine! Ma chère cœur, please, are you here?"

"_Please let this be a game she is playing. Please, God!"_

I turn and survey the room more thoroughly.

"_Yes, she has been here. There is her sari and shoes. The room though…."_

The room shows no signs of a struggle. Nothing is out of place.

"_It's like she came here, changed and left … but she did not feel well. I could tell. She would not leave without telling someone or … leaving me a note."_

I rush to the vanity table, but the surface is bare. Turning and rushing back into the corridor, I grab a nearby stage hand, who is leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette.

"Have you seen Madame de Mornay? Mademoiselle Maire?"

The man nods and points to her dressing room.

"I saw her go in 10, maybe 15 minutes ago. I was talkin' to me friend, so I weren't watchin' the door. She coulda' walked out and I weren't lookin'. Sorry, Monsieur."

Patting his arm, I nod and mumble my thanks, then stumble back into the dressing room. I softly close the door and lean back upon its rough surface. Drawing a deep breath, I hold the air in my lungs for a moment and then release the breath. I continue to breathe this slow and deliberate way until I feel myself begin to relax.

"_Just calm down, Erik. Close your eyes and go to the cottage. She will be there and then she can tell you where she is."_

I close my eyes and reach for Christine's presence in my mind. Instead of finding her comforting presence and the familiar walls of the cottage around me, I cannot feel her at all and where the cottage once was is an empty void. It is as if I am standing atop the precipice of a cliff overlooking a vast dark ocean. I gaze down at the breakers far below. I watch as they break higher and higher, each time retreating less and less. I stand impotent against the tide and watch as a black wave rolls in and begins to invade my mind. I choke on it as it pours through my mind.

"_I am drowning! Christine, my dearest wife, I love you! Where are you? Are you all right? Somehow, I will find you! I will never give up! Please do not hurt her! Take me! Do with me, as you will, only let her go. Please?"_

There is no response to the anguished cries of my mind, only the overpowering darkness, which is slowly suffocating me. I know the end is near when I feel the veins in my eyes burst. My dying mind knows the burst veins are the reason I see the brilliant flashes of light before me and not that heaven is preparing to welcome me home. I gather all of my strength for my last words. My last thoughts are of her. How much I love her. How much I care for her. How worried I am for her. How I would sacrifice all I am if it would save her. She is everything to me.

"Oh, Christine…."

And, then I am no more.


	76. Words Made of Ash

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse – A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

** **Chapter Seventy-Six – Words Made of Ash**

"_**SPEAK THE WORDS, WOMAN!!! **How far will you go? What sacrifice do you offer as penance for your soul? We judge him. He is blameless. We judge you. You are not blameless. Your soul bears the weight of denying true love, of the murders he committed in his madness of his unrequited love, of the sin of his suicide death and of the murder of the soul of the man you took as husband before the eyes of God._

_We have sent you and the man back into the world time and time again. This is the first time that you healed his broken heart and he found true happiness and love. It is because of this that we give you this chance to make amends. You and the man, once soul mates, we bound into one, but for the penance, you are one no more. We shall not punish the man. His suffering has been long and arduous. We took from you the memories of the past. Now, we return them to you."_

She trembles not one bit, but stands perfectly still as her judge speaks and the memories flood into her mind. A sad smile plays about one corner of her mouth and a single, silent tear runs down her cheek as she remembers it all. She remembers everything. Her eyes close and she hangs her head in shame at the searing memories of overwhelming pain and sorrow she caused the man. Her head lifts, she stands erect with her head tilted slightly to one side, she is beautiful, she is exquisite, she is regal and she is damned.

She once again slips to the land of long ago, a place far away. The kingdom of Nod. Her eyes roll up and back into her head, leaving only the whites of her eyes visible. She throws her head back as her arms sweep out and then lift imploringly towards the heavens. She whispers the words of her penance. The whispers swirl about her as they become alive, to breathe and to burn through her soul.

The wind joins with the whispering voice of the woman. Wind and woman unite in quiet duet. The wind strengthens the sound of the whispering woman and her whisper whipped into a howling gale.

"**_SPEAK THE WORDS, WOMAN! SPEAK THE WORDS NOW!"_**

The winds cease and the woman lowers her arms. She returns from the land of Nod. Her eyes roll back down, so her hazel-green eyes become visible once more.

She sighs and then begins to speak.

"I accept the blame. I make no excuse. I am guilty as charged, but I fear that my penance shall hurt the man, so I beg of thee a boon. Please allow the man to believe we are together. That he and I continue the life where I made him whole and happy. Please give him this! I beg you! For myself, I ask nothing. For my penance, I sacrifice myself. My sentence is to watch the man live his life, but I cannot feel his happiness, I cannot touch him. Each time he smiles, it shall be as a knife stabbing into my heart. Each time he laughs, it shall be as the lash of a whip upon my back. Each time he loves, I shall feel desire, but never release. I offer the penance of my soul in this way for all eternity, so he may have one love, one lifetime of happiness. I only hope my offer is enough."

She hangs her head and awaits her judge's decision.

"_**AS YE SAY IT, SO SHALL IT BE DONE!"**_

Again, she sighs and raising her head to the heavens, she whispers.

"Thank you."

Her judge's words hang in the air then swirl about her as a light breeze catches them and tosses them about her like autumn leaves. After a time, the words come to rest on the ground around her. The gentle breeze grows into a wind, which begins to whip around her, growing ever stronger.

She becomes lost in the swirling vortex that surrounds her, as it swallows her in a cloud of bitter ash.


	77. Angel of Truth

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Seventy-Seven – Angel of Truth**

The cloud of ash soon flies free of the whirlwind, leaving only the woman standing within its center. She unveils her eyes as she raises her heavy lids, her eyes dart about and she lifts her head. Suddenly, all goes still. She stands alone beneath an absolutely clear azure sky, her feet hidden in the rich green grass of the hillside upon which she stands. She sees the sun high in the sky, but feels none of its warmth. She stands basking in its light, but feels nothing.

Then, she hears voices. She is not as alone as she thought. The voices are high, clear and young. Full of the promise of a thousand or more tomorrows. The children scramble past her, holding hands as they make their meandering way to the summit. One, a dark-haired boy and the other, a girl with curly chocolate-brown hair.

"Tag! You're it!"

The giggling girl taps the boy's arm, lifts her skirts and runs away from him in a zigzag.

"Hey!"

The boy's surprised reply rings out across the hillside and after a bemused expression flits across his face, he begins to chase after the girl.

The woman watches as the two race through the grass, she watches them her mouth unsmiling and eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

"But, this is not the place where it all began. Why am I here?"

Her mouth unknowingly issues the words at the same moment as the girl begins to scream.

Turning away, she tightly squeezes her eyes shut and covers her ears with her hands, the woman walks blindly away from the sight of the horrible memory.

"_No. No! Not here. This is not right! I need to start at the beginning. This time is one of my failures. I cannot start here. Please, not here!"_

She closes her eyes. Her mind suddenly feels as if her body is turning cartwheels and she just knows she is not where she was. She is somewhere … some when else. She cannot feel the sun's glow penetrating her eyelids. It is cold and slightly damp. She opens her eyes.

♥○♥☼♥○♥

She looks about her and nods.

"_Yes. This is where it all began."_

The woman stands in the corner of a small room built of rough-hewn stone blocks. Her eyes drawn to the familiar comfort of the large stained glass window of an angel. The room is bereft of life, but not for long as the steadily growing pitter-patter of feet attests. A girl enters the room. She looks like the girl, who moments before, had first played with and then been assaulted by her best friend as she screamed in abject terror. The girl in the chapel's clothes are somber; a charcoal gray, long-sleeve blouse and a simple, long, plain black skirt without a scrap of lace or frill to soften its look. The girl on the hillside's clothes were a joyful riot of color; a bright yellow peasant blouse with bright red, green, violet and blue swirls of embroidery and a royal blue skirt embellished with swirls of bright yellow embroidery. The woman's sigh catches as an involuntary sob hitches in her throat.

"_Focus on this girl, not the other. This is where everything goes wrong. This is where it can be made right. So much depends on the next few moments. Please, God, please? Help me! Help us all!"_

As if in response to her pleas, a poem flashes through her mind ….

"_Wait a minute! I do not have to have someone save me. I can do this. I am not stupid. This is my life, do I want to live it or have someone else tell me how to live it? There is a poem … I am the captain of my fate? No, that isn't quite right. What is the name of that poem? The one about controlling my fate with an unconquerable soul? Something like that. Think, woman! Think! Yes! I have it! It is called, 'Invictus' by William Ernest Henley. Invictus, from the Latin, meaning 'unconquered' … hmmm …."_

"_Out of the night that covers me,  
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,  
I thank whatever gods may be,  
for my unconquerable soul._

_In the fell clutch of circumstance,  
I have not winced, nor cried aloud.  
Under the bludgeonings of chance,  
my head is bloody, but unbowed._

_Beyond this place of wrath and tears,  
looms, but the Horror of the shade,  
and yet the menace of the years,  
finds, and shall find, me unafraid._

_It matters not how strait the gate,  
how charged with punishments the scroll,  
I am the master of my fate:  
I am the captain of my soul."_

The woman hears the words of the poem run through her mind and along with the words flows something new, something good. She is in control of her life. She does not need anyone telling her what to do, what to feel, what to say, what to wear, what to think. She is not stupid, but can make stupid mistakes. It is okay to make mistakes. It is okay to say, yes or no as she sees fit. It is her god-given right to make her own decisions, right or wrong. It is with this new conviction burning in her breast that the woman turns her eyes back to the girl.

The girl with the sad, brown eyes walks to the rack of votive candles, draws a taper out of a box hanging from the front of the rack, touches the taper to a lit candle and solemnly lights three candles. Blowing out the taper and replacing it in the box, she kneels upon the cold, hard flagstone floor and bows her head in prayer. Her lips move as she silently mouths the words, soon her words escape from her mouth in whispers. She pauses, as if waiting for an answer. When no response is forthcoming, she sighs and begins to beseech the heavens, raising both her eyes and voice upwards.

"Papa? Papa? Can you hear me? It is me, Christine. I am living in Paris now with Madame and Meg Giry at the Opera Populaire. Maybe you did not know where I was, so that is why the Angel of Music has not come to me. Papa? You promised to send me an angel. You promised! I am so lonely! I miss you so! I have been good. I do everything that Madame tells me to do, but I hate it here! The other girls are so mean. They called me a liar, Papa! Really! And, you know I would never lie. I hate … well, no I would not do that, but I do not like liars. Lies hurt everyone … the person telling the lie as well as the person to whom the lie is told. And they said I was telling a lie when I said you told me that angels are real. They said my father would never say that because grown-ups know it isn't true. They said you would never promise to send an angel to me because you would know that angels are not real. So, that meant I was lying. They tease me all the time. A few of the girls like to pull my hair. One girl, Agnes, pushed me down and I skinned my knee. It hurt, but … oh, Papa! You promised …. Papa, why?"

She covers her face with her hands and begins to weep. Her small body shudders as spasms of grief pass through her small body. She throws herself to the floor, prostrating herself before the angel, which gazes silently down upon her from the stained-glass window.

"Papa? When will the angel come? I just know you would not tell me a lie. You would never lie to me. Oh, Papa … when?"

Her tears run dry and after a time, the only sound is the soft blubbering and sniffling of the young girl. Another sound slowly begins to build inside the chapel. It is a man singing with a voice so splendid, so divine that it could easily be mistaken for one of the celestial chorus. The girl lifts her head from the floor, her face shining with the remains of her tears.

The girl strains to catch the words of the song, but she cannot. All meaning, all time, everything is lost in the heartbreakingly beautiful voice. The song continued long enough for the girl's tears to dry on her face.

The woman listens to the singing, remembering and thinking.

"_This is the moment when fate set its course for us. This is the moment that must be set right, but how?"_

At last the song ends, leaving the chapel in silence. The girl wipes the salty grit of her tears from her face.

The woman rushes to the girl and whispers into her ear.

"_We are all God's angels. Human still, but angels as well."_

The girl pauses and the woman returns to the corner of the room. The girl tosses her hair back over her shoulders as she calls out.

"Hello? You sing so beautifully! That was wonderful! Thank you so much. Hello? Are you still there? Please do not go. I need to speak with you. Hello?"

She waits in the silent room. Her lower lip trembles and begins to push out in a pout, but she bites it instead. She tries again.

"Hello? Hello? My name is Christine. Are you there? Hello? Please do not leave! I want to be your friend. You sound as lonely as I am. Would you be my friend?"

Silence. Then a quiet sneeze. The world shifts and all is changed.

"Ahhh! I know you are here. Please come out. I am nothing that you need fear. We can sing together, although you sing much better than I can. Maybe you can teach me to sing. Please? Hello?"

A shuffling sound echoes in the chapel. A grate in the corner of the room clanks and then begins to swing away from the wall, issuing a protesting shriek as it moves. The girl swirls around to stare into the inky dark of the air vent.

"Hello, my name is Christine. Who are you?"

A shadow emerges from the hole and unfolds itself into the shape of a young man. His black cloak robbed his body of form at first, but standing, Christine sees that he is simply a tall, lanky boy. He appears to be four or five years older than she, but it is difficult for her to tell because half of his face is covered by a white mask. He stands with his hands folded in front of him and seems to be staring at her intently. Christine scrambles to her feet. She brushes her hands down her skirt to remove the dust and smooth the wrinkles. She slowly walks to the boy and stops directly in front of him. She smiles up at him and holds out her right hand to him.

"Hello! My name is Christine…Christine Daae." A shy pause as she wiggles her hand at him. "Hi! What is your name? Would you like to be my friend?"

The boy looks up from the floor and into her eyes. His eyes follow hers to look at her tiny hand. His mouth's grimace slowly transforms from a pinched frown into a shy smile. He takes her hand in his, bends over it and places a soft kiss upon its back. He stands, straightening his back to his full height, but never lets go of her hand or stops looking into her eyes. His smile broadens at last reaching his eyes.

"Hello, Christine. I … well, my name is Erik and I would very much like to be your friend."

Their hands shift as they seek closeness, their fingers entwining. Her brown eyes radiate pure delight as she pulls Erik down to sit next to her on the floor. Raising their joined hands, she considers the sight for a moment, then speaks softly.

"Erik, my father made me a promise just before he died. He promised that when he was in heaven, he would send the Angel of Music to watch over me and guide me. Well, my father died four years ago and I have been waiting and praying every day of those four years. I am 12 years old today and I was going to give up. I was going to admit I was a fool, but not any more. While I know you are not an angel, you do sing like one. I think that maybe, angels are just people, just like everyone else. Except they can see when people need help or maybe, just a hug. They are the special people that help when they do not have to do it. I think that you may be my angel, Erik. And yet, you seem as lonely as I am, so maybe, I am your angel as well."

Christine leans her head against Erik's shoulder. She closes her eyes, her lips turning up into a gentle smile as Erik unconsciously wraps his arm protectively around her shoulder. He, too, closes his eyes and begins to smile.

The woman watches the two with joyous tears streaming down her cheeks. Her sight dims. Frowning, she swipes away the tears with the back of her hand, only to find it is not her tears which blind her. And with that realization, she finds the truth that lies hidden within the darkness of each human soul…we are all angels. Then, the darkness surrounds her and swallows her in its embrace until she knows no more.


	78. Doing Time

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse – A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Seventy-Eight – Doing Time**

Gradually awakening from a deep, dreamless slumber, I go to stretch and freeze as awareness kicks in with the first wave of pain that shoots down my back, into my hip, down my leg to circle the bottom of my foot where it makes itself at home.

"_Ah yes, pain, my constant companion, my old friend. What a fickle maestro you are."_

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I find myself staring up at the open beams of the roughly plastered ceiling. I shiver and think about allowing myself to return to the warmth of my blankets, but am fairly certain that someone is supposed to stop by today.

"_Home again! Home again! Jiggity jig! Good evening, J.F.!"_

I sigh.

"_It's depressing realizing your own jokes are so obscure that no one but you will ever understand the reference. Still, that's a great movie on many different levels. Too bad Philip died before it was finished. I really like that actor. Very interesting to watch. He's very intense! I've never seen anyone move that way or emote quite like that … 'I've seen things you people wouldn't believe' …."_

I cut short my silent musings as I perform my daily inspection of my damaged body. I hold up my arms, inspecting them for bruising, paying close attention to the tender baseball-size lump at the front of my left shoulder.

My once-beautiful bursa, now adds one more lump of monstrosity to my self-image. The Quasimodo of Peterhead. The Igor of Aberdeenshire. The Renfield of Boddam.

"_How many humps do you take with your tea? One hump or two? Bah, dump, dump …."_

Shaking my head, I scold myself.

"_That one's so bad that I can't even laugh at it. Well, everything is up to specs and within tolerances topside, better check below the decks."_

I turn my attention to my legs and begin with the left leg. The leg is well-formed with a long lean thigh, smooth knee, shapely calf, smooth shin and delicate ankle.

"_My only good feature, according to me mum. My Betty Grable legs and I ruined them."_

I continue my examination by moving to my right leg and frown. The right leg aches, burns and feels numb all at the same time. I run my fingers along the edges of the mottled, shiny, puckered skin. My fingers follow the path of the scar, which runs from my right hip along my thigh, encircling my knee in a gross parody of a crown of thorns, then winding its way down my inner calf to hide its end on the bottom of my foot.

"_All in all a fairly ghastly scar. I wonder if you can tattoo scar tissue. Then I could make it really look like a vine of thorns. With my luck, scar tissue probably isn't a recommended surface for a tattoo."_

I run my fingers around my knee wondering if the dark red lumps will ever look less angry and if the shiny white skin will ever stop looking like it belongs to a corpse. For a moment, my sight blurs and I can see a leg without scars. Shocked, I blink, only to find the scars still there, the pain ever-present.

"_Why can't it just all be numb? But, no, of course not. Then I wouldn't hurt all of the time and I wouldn't have nerves misfiring and sending these bizarre phantoms running up and down my leg. Just another wonderful aspect of being me … I am just a mass of interesting sensations custom-made just for this broken body. Does the fun never end?"_

I stop as I hear a quiet voice inside my head say, _"Yes, it does end."_

"_Geez! I'm in a great mood today! What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I complaining? Just because your date stood you up last night doesn't mean it's the end of the world. After all, mother said that it's their loss not mine. That feels like a lie, but that's all I've got to hold in the middle of the night. I'll never have a man that wants this twisted mass of meat … okay, that's it! Enough!"_

Shaking my current thoughts from my mind, I close my eyes and breathe slowly for a minute. I allow images of my favorite oil paintings to perform a delicate slideshow behind my eyelids. After several minutes, I feel calm enough to continue.

"_I've always tried to look on the bright side of this before … the bright side … yes, Christy Keith! You know, the bright side … as in you can still walk. You can still hear. Well, mostly, anyways …. There is always someone who is less fortunate than you are. So, stop your bitching and moaning. After all, you chose this …."_

My thoughts screech to a halt.

"_What the fuck does that mean? What did I choose? I chose to lose my hearing. I decided, ah, what the hell, let's fall down a waterfall and end up with a partially paralyzed leg. No, I don't think I did that, but I did choose something. What exactly did I choose?"_

Laying on my makeshift bed, thinking about things such as choice is not really a good idea. I have traveled down this road many times before and know where the road ends for I have marked it, _'Here there be dragons.'_ I decide to avoid the subject altogether and allow my mind to slide onto the next Saturday morning thought.

"_How long has it been since I've slept in my bed? You know how long it's been. You cannot lie to me, Cairistíona Muiríol Murron Keith! You can try to lie to everyone else, but you cannot lie to me. It's been a little more than eight years. You haven't slept in your bed since you fell … okay, fine! Since I almost bloody well died. Or, have I?"_

A foggy memory nudges my mind.

"_A memory? No, a virgin body could not, would not remember this. No, it was a wonderfully wicked dream. Okay then, fine. A dream."_

I allow the images to run through my mind.

"_My dream lover was a tall, dark man, who held me in his arms as I watched him sleep. And when he awoke, in my dream, I rolled on top of him and guided him inside me. A dream in which I used muscles inside of me. Muscles I had never used before, a place no man had been before. I had squeezed him and relaxed. Tighten, release, over and over until our souls ignited and we passed into the sweet bliss of orgasm as one."_

My breath catches in my throat and to cover my pained longing, I lie to myself and snort disgustedly.

"_Oh, yes! That's right! I found my dream lover. My soul mate and now I've forgotten him and it would seem that he has forgotten me as well."_

Ignoring the empty ache, which centers at the core of my womanhood, I slowly swing my legs off the settee and down onto the floor. I slip my feet into brown moccasins, grab my cane from the end of the settee, I pull myself up and head into the bathroom.

"_At last a pain that has nothing to do with the accident! Unfortunately, there are no pills I can take to deaden this hurt. A man's body could offer me relief from the ache I feel, but I know that no man would ever make that offer. No man would ever wish to lie with me. After all, what man would want a monster?"_

Again, I shake my head.

"_Maybe I'll feel like more of a human being after my shower."_

Showering and taking one red, one orange and one green pill dulls the pain enough to allow me to haul myself to the kitchen. As I walk through the formal living room, the view stuns me into stopping and staring just as it does every day.

"_This is the reason I bought this place. This view and the fact that if I didn't purchase it, it would go to the Queen. Couldn't let ol' Lizzie own it. As the last descendant of Keith, I couldn't walk away. I will never get over how lovely it is here. It feels so much like home. Now, if only me neighbors didn't detest having me here so much …."_

The sight directly in front of my living room window is that of the Buchan Ness Lighthouse. The most easterly point in Scotland. A beautiful view for the mistress of a castle, even if it is a castle in ruins.

"_Not when I am finished. Boddam Castle will be as magnificent as it was during the time of Keith, Knight of Ludquharn."_

I smile at the thought and continue into the kitchen for a quick breakfast.

☼♥○♦○♥☼♥○♦○♥☼

After breakfast, I remember that the Pastor of Trinity Parish Church had left me a phone message saying he would be dropping by later this morning for a visit. I hated his "visits" and felt they were just an excuse for him to be nosy and gather fodder for his gossip. I decided to "forget" he was coming. I gather my art equipment, stow it in my backpack and load it into my auto. I also pack my neoprene leg brace because the last time I visited Jeannie Grieves, I spent too much time trying to find a safe path through the rocks, boulders and pools and not enough time painting the beautiful countryside. This time, I am prepared. I'm wearing my black Timberland 6-Eye Boots, a pastel green ankle-length suede skirt, a long-sleeve, pullover top with scoop neck, my faithful black leather duster, black leather fedora and black collapsible cane. The wraparound skirt will allow me easy access should I need to put on the brace. Giving myself a once-over in the mirror, I nod.

"_Not too bad. I almost look normal. Perhaps, I can forget about being the Monster of Keith for a couple of hours and lose myself inside a painting. I just have to be careful navigating through the rocks and pools. Maybe, I can find an angle that shows the castle and the lighthouse in it. I'd love to paint that and hang it over the settee."_

I ease my body into my black Mini Cooper and head down A90 until I see the muddy cow path and turn off the main roadway. This path, not intended for autos, but luckily, my Mini is lightweight and can travel easily along it. I follow the path just far enough from A90 so my parked auto cannot be seen from the road. Deciding to attempt walking with just my cane, at least for a little while, I stash the brace in the backpack then heft the pack onto my back along with my keys. Giving my cane a shake, it clicks into line.

"_And away I go!"_

☼♥○♦○♥☼♥○♦○♥☼

"And why would I want to go to London?"

While my voice isn't exactly bellowing, it isn't exactly quiet and calm. Madeleine always knows the exact button that will push me into an angry frenzy.

She speaks in a calm, cool, almost perfectly modulated voice. Just as everything about her is precise and perfect.

"Erik, you spent the last eight years at Glasgow University. You graduated with your degree in law almost six months ago and yet, here you sit, scribbling away at your so-called "music." I believe it is high time for you to take up your uncle's offer of an internship at his offices in London. You are 27 years old. You need to settle down and use the education paid for by my careful planning. It's time, don't you agree?"

She stands there looking pretty and perfect. Much to pretty to be my mother. A wave of nausea hits me and I run from her, grabbing my keys as I head for the front door.

"I can't live my life by your timetable anymore, Madeleine. I'm going for a drive and I'm not certain when or if I will be back, so don't wait up for me."

Her voice is so cold that I feel the back of my shirt stiffen.

"Erik DeMornay, if you walk out that door, do not bother coming back, ever!"

"Very well, Madeleine. If that is your wish. Do not worry, I will not return."

I walk from the parlor and into the music room. I open my briefcase and fill it with reams of my sheet music then snap the lid closed. I bend over, retrieve my violin in its black case and holding my violin and briefcase, I beat a hasty retreat from my mother's house. I can feel her eyes on the back of my head as I drive my black Aston Martin down the drive, onto the street and out into the night.


	79. Do You Believe?

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse – A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

****Chapter Seventy-Nine – Do You Believe?**

"_I've been driving almost six hours and it's just about eight o'clock. I need to stop and get some petrol."_

Keeping one eye on the gauge and the other on the road signs, I sigh and think about my argument with Madeleine again.

"_Everything she said made perfect sense and yet, I just can't help thinking that there's got to be something more. Something more than one night stands, reams of unfinished music and a life not lived."_

I rub my eyes and run my hand through my hair.

"_There's just this feeling that I'm missing something. And then, there are the dreams I keep having."_

Vague images of a petit woman dressed only in a smile and long dark hair flash into my mind. I swear I can feel her hand on me, warm and wonderful as she guides me inside. My body responds as it always does and I curse my weakness.

"_Fuck! That's get a hard on over a dream. Drool over someone that doesn't even exist. What a bloody idiot I am!"_

Thankfully, a sign advertising petrol diverts my attention so I pull off the road and drive up next to the pump. The station is old and the pumps look like working antiques. Thankfully, I notice a handwritten sign, which informs me that an attendant must pump petrol, so I remain inside and wait. After a minute of waiting with no one making an appearance, I look at the office more closely and realize the station is closed. Sighing, I exit my car and walk to the door. The little sign informs me that the station doesn't open for another hour and a half. I groan.

"_Bloody hell!"_

There is a tattered map taped to the inside of the office window. A red arrow seems to indicate the location of the station is at the turnoff to a town named, Coldwells.

"_Bleeding Christ! I can either go back down A90 to A975 and head to Cruden Bay or keep on A90 and go to Boddam. Boddam looks closer. Fuck! I probably won't make either one. I'm on fumes as it is right now. Shit! Fuck! Damn it! I don't know how, but somehow this is all your fault Madeleine! Fucking bitch!"_

My instinct makes me want to lash out and break something, but I take a deep breath and reign in my temper.

"_It's not a good thing to lose your temper in the country. It'll only bring you more grief. Come on! Let's give it the old school try!"_

I slowly walk back to my DB7. The vehicle always soothes my rather fractious temper. I can't help but appreciate the sleek lines of the body and my gentle smile becomes a grin as I remember the article _Autocar_ magazine published about my particular DB7 V8.

"_I'd really pissed Madeleine off when I had the DB7 built to special order by Works Service. I thought it hysterical when I'd seen the article in Autocar Magazine who called me, 'a wealthy customer.' I wondered if anyone really understood exactly what I'd done to the car and why, but shrugged it off. After all, having an off road car with a 6.3 litre version of the 48 valve Marek V8 when you live in Scotland is almost a necessity, in my humble opinion, of course. The only tells to give away the custom work done on the car are the 'driving dynamics' body kit, the very discrete 'V8' badges and the bonnet's noticeable power bulge, which covers the 452bhp engine."_

My temper recedes as I open the door and settle behind the wheel.

"_Yes, I must definitely find my lady a drink! What the hell do I need with a wife when I have this fine lady?"_

Turning the engine over, I pull away from the station making sure I press gently on the accelerator. A quiet voice inside my head whispers a rebuttal to my protestation.

"_You may not need a wife, but your dreams say that you want one. A certain one."_

"Shut up!"

That growled comment effectively silences the voice for the moment.

♀♥○♦○♥☼♥○♦○♥♂

Two kilometers later and the engine sputters, then dies. Spotting a muddy trail, I pull my car off the road and coast to a stop. The air inside the car becomes blue with the invectives to which my mouth gives voice. When I have at last exhausted my supply of swears and the red recedes from my vision, I find myself staring at a black older model Mini Cooper. Climbing out of my car and closing the door, I walk to the Mini to check it out. Noticing the tire tracks in the mud, I feel relief.

"_Seems to me that it couldn't have been here too long if I can see the tire tracks. I wonder where the owner is."_

As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I hear a woman's voice singing. After listening for a moment and concentrating on the direction from which it is coming, I grab my keys, lock up the car and begin to track down the owner of the voice.

"_She is singing an old Billie Holiday song, "All of Me." And, she is singing it quite beautifully."_

"_All of me,  
why not take all of me?  
Can't you see  
I'm no good without you?_

_Take my lips  
I want to lose them.  
Take my arms  
I'll never use them._

_Your goodbye  
left me with eyes that cry.  
How can I  
go on being without you?_

_You took a part  
that once was my heart.  
So, why not  
take all of me._

_Your goodbye  
left me with eyes that cry.  
How can I  
go on being without you?_

_You took the part  
that once was my heart.  
So, why not  
take all of me."_

_**Music & Lyrics by G. Simons & G. Marks**_

I round a boulder and the sight before me shocks me to my very core. My feet feel as if someone cemented them to the ground. The owner of the voice sits perched on a rock with her back to me before a canvas, which rests on an easel with her paints and brushes set-up around her. She is a small, curvaceous yet slender dark-haired woman with alabaster skin.

"_She fancies suede and leather … just like you, Erik."_

My thoughts cut short as she begins to sing another Billie Holiday song, "Good Morning, Heartache."

"_Good morning, heartache,  
you old blue sigh,  
good morning, heartache,  
thought we said goodbye last night.  
I turned and tossed until it seemed you had gone,  
but here you are with the dawn._

_Wish I'd forget you,  
but you're here to stay.  
It seems I met you  
when my love went away.  
Now every day I start by saying to you,  
good morning, heartache, what's new?_

_Stop haunting me now.  
Can't shake you no how.  
Just leave me alone.  
I've got those Monday blues,  
straight thru Sunday blues._

_Good morning, heartache,  
here we go again.  
Good morning, heartache,  
you're the one  
who knew me when.  
Might as well get used to you,  
hanging around.  
Good morning, heartache,  
sit down."_

**_Music & Lyrics by I. Higginbotham, E. Drake & D. Fisher_**

Her voice stuns me with its unearthly beauty and with the overwhelming sense of sorrow contained in that voice. I have never heard anyone sing with so much emotion before.

"_How could anyone know that much sorrow and still sing so beautifully?"_

My heart dubs her my Cathy and I, her Heathcliff.

"_How fitting it is that we meet on the moors … well, almost …."_ I smirk.

Before I can move or make a sound, she begins to sing again. My breath catches in my throat as I recognize the song.

"_Wuthering Heights? It's almost as if she can hear my thoughts …."_

"_Out on the wily, windy moors  
we'd roll and fall in green.  
You had a temper like my jealousy:  
Too hot, too greedy.  
How could you leave me,  
when I needed to possess you?  
I hated you. I loved you, too._

_Bad dreams in the night.  
They told me I was going to lose the fight,  
leave behind my wuthering, wuthering,  
Wuthering Heights._

_Heathcliff, it's me. It's Cathy.  
Come home. I'm so cold!  
Let me in-a-your window._

_Heathcliff, it's me. It's Cathy.  
Come home. I'm so cold!  
Let me in-a-your window._

_Ooh, it gets dark! It gets lonely,  
on the other side from you.  
I pine a lot. I find the lot  
falls through without you.  
I'm coming back, love,  
cruel Heathcliff, my one dream,  
my only master._

_Too long, I roam in the night.  
I'm coming back to put it right.  
I'm coming home to wuthering, wuthering,  
Wuthering Heights._

_Heathcliff, it's me. It's Cathy.  
Come home. I'm so cold!  
Let me in-a-your window._

_Heathcliff, it's me. It's Cathy.  
Come home. I'm so cold!  
Let me in-a-your window._

_Ooh! Let me have it.  
Let me grab your soul away.  
Ooh! Let me have it.  
Let me grab your soul away.  
You know it's me – Cathy!"_

_**Music & Lyrics by Kate Bush**_

I almost turn and walk away as I feel embarrassed interrupting her solitude, but my feet still refuse to move. Then I realize that my mouth is hanging open and I'm staring at her like a lunatic, so I shut my mouth and shake my head. I close my eyes and try to regain my composure, but her voice has awakened a longing in me. The voice inside my head whispers.

"_She is the one."_

"Shut up!"

I clap my hand over my mouth as the words escape my lips. The woman's body gives a slight start and then goes very still. Her left hand holds a brush hovering just above the surface of the canvas. And then, a trick of the wind saves me. I hear distant voices, a man's voice shouting and a child's voice answering. Her head scans the horizon and just before she turns to look in my direction, I duck behind a boulder.

"_What am I doing? I wanted to find someone to help me get petrol and I've found someone, but now I'm hiding."_

The voice whispers, _"You don't want her to think you told her to shut up …."_

"_Aw … please? Give me a break! Let me think!"_

The silence broken only by soft, urgent sounds coming from the direction of the woman.

"_Damn it! She's spooked. She's packing her gear. She's going to leave. Aw, bloody hell! It's now or never, Erik. Do or die. So what are you gonna do?"_

My body answers my question as my feet start to move and I find myself walking back around the boulder towards the woman. She is swiftly packing her art supplies into a backpack as she continually pauses to scan the horizon.

"_What's she so nervous about? It's almost as if she's afraid. Well, here goes something, I hope."_

I clear my throat and open my mouth to speak, but the words freeze in my throat, my mouth hanging open as she whirls about to face me, reacting to the sound of my throat clearing.

"_My God! Her face! She is absolutely hideous!"_

I turn and run with the sound of her crying ringing in my ears.

♀♥○♦○♥☼♥○♦○♥♂

The spectral woman stands watching the man run from the disfigured woman. She sighs and a single tear runs down her perfect cheek.

"So, this is to be my punishment? I must forever watch as we meet and one of us rejects the other. If this is my fate, please just let me die. Unless, I can know that somewhere he is happy. That somewhere he has love. Please? Oh, please?"

She screams her demands to the silent heavens and then her body falls to the ground as she dissolves into nothingness.


	80. The Whisperer Shouts!

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse – A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

* * *

****DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One ****

* * *

****Chapter Eighty – The Whisperer Shouts!**

The weeping, spectral woman finds herself lying on the living room floor of Boddam Castle.

"_Now what? Well, I suppose I must trust that they kept their promise to me and that Erik is happy with me … somewhere … some when …."_

She stands and looks about the room, admiring the architecture and furnishings.

"_I could have been happy living here."_

Suddenly, her eyes alight upon a familiar alabaster statue, tucked into a small alcove shrine. She smiles as she approaches the delicately carved figure, her hand reaching out to it. Her hand stops and hovers less than an inch from the beatific face. Her fingers gently caress the air just above the cheek for a moment. She whispers.

"I guess some things never change. My greetings go to you, Goddess! You are even lovelier than I remember, Quan Yin. I know that I am unworthy, but …. You are the Goddess of Mercy. You are the One Who Sees and Hears the Cries from the Human World. You are she who always observes and pays attention to sound. You are she who hears prayers. You are the Goddess who comforts the troubled, the sick, the lost, the senile and the unfortunate. You are the protector of seafarers, farmers and travelers. You are she who cares for souls in the underworld. You are she who frees souls from the torment of purgatory. Goddess, as one of the P'u Sa, the Three Great Beings, renowned for your power over the forces of nature, I invoke thee. Cradle him within your loving embrace. Protect him, please?"

The woman kneels before the statue, closing her eyes she lifts her head to the heavens. Then, her arms move with the precision of an oft performed ritual. She draws her arms out with her elbows pressed to her sides. Her hands come together and issue three sharp, cracking claps. Her voice becomes clear and strong.

"Spirits of my ancestors! Awake! Lift my prayer to the heavens for the Goddess to hear."

She waits a moment then lowers her head with eyes still closed, she continues.

"Quan Yin, I offer this prayer to you for Erik and for the souls of all those in need. Please, hear the words of your unworthy petitioner …."

"To those who withhold refuge,  
I cradle you in safety at the core of my Being.  
To those that cause a child to cry out,  
I grant you the freedom to express your own choked agony.  
To those that inflict terror,  
I remind you that you shine with the purity of a thousand suns.  
To those who would confine, suppress or deny,  
I offer the limitless expanse of the sky.  
To those who need to cut, slash or burn,  
I remind you of the invincibility of Spring.  
To those who cling and grasp,  
I promise more abundance than you could ever hold onto.  
To those who vent their rage on small children,  
I return to you your deepest innocence.  
To those who must frighten into submission,  
I hold you in the bosom of your original mother.  
To those who cause agony to others,  
I give the gift of free flowing tears.  
To those that deny another's right to be,  
I remind you that the angels sang in celebration of you on the day of your birth.  
To those who see only division and separateness,  
I remind you that a part is born only by bisecting a whole.  
To those who have forgotten the tender mercy of a mother's embrace,  
I send a gentle breeze to caress your brow.  
To those who still feel somehow incomplete,  
I offer the perfect sanctity of this very moment."**  
_Buddhist Prayer to Quan Yin_**

As she continues her invocation, the whisperer shouts.

"**Quan Yin! Goddess of Mercy! Please, hear me!  
This lost soul calls upon you!**  
**I invoke your aid on behalf of one truly worthy.**  
**Hear my plea! I beseech you!"**

The woman begins the ritual with the slow and deliberate clapping of her hands three times and then bows to the figure.

"**Goddess, I implore you grant to Erik ... a life filled with love,  
I beg you to gift him with a life of peace and happiness.  
Help him to help himself.  
Help him to travel each day on a sure and steady path.  
Help him to find the path to healing.  
Help him in his mind, body, spirit and soul.  
Quan Yin, I am yours.  
Mind, spirit and body,  
I am yours.  
Thank you, Goddess."**

Tears stream from the woman's eyes as she finishes speaking her prayer. Heedless of her tears, she bends to place a kiss on the feet of the statue and then drained, miserable, exhausted, desperate and depressed she lowers herself face down on the floor before the statue once more. The woman lies there quietly weeping. Her final words sound hoarse and choked with her tears.

"I ask nothing for myself, Goddess. Just for Erik. Only for Erik. Oh! I love him so …."

**Ω**٭**Ω**٭**Ω**٭**Ω**٭**Ω**

She has been summoned and the first sound she hears is that of weeping. Quan Yin sighs.

"It is always weeping."

There is something about the voice though that tugs at her and brings her attention to this particular weeping specter.

"Yes, I know this one. I feel her presence more intimately than most. Why is that?"

She materializes in the room to learn the identity of the specter. She leans down almost touching her cheek to the floor and stumbles back with the shock of her recognition. A crimson flush of fury suffuses her pale cheeks, but only for the barest of moments. Then her face regains its composure and she is serene once more. She disappears from the room leaving the specter prostrated before her statue.

She returns to her place and considers the case of the weeping specter. She frowns. Coldly, her voice rings out.

"**I KNOW WHAT IS DONE. I AM DISPLEASED, VERY DISPLEASED. IT SHALL STOP, NOW! I SAY, ENOUGH!** The woman willingly submitted to an eternal punishment. The man's heart is whole once more. I deemed them forgiven. Who dared this abomination? Which one of you dares defy me by withholding the mercy I granted? Speak now."

The rumbling, deep gong-like voice issues forth from the clouds above the group of human-like figures standing, sitting and reclining about a grotto.

Three of the males given their names of Aeacus, Minos and Rhadamanthus by the Greeks consign the dead either to Tartarus or to the Isles of the Blest. Their faces show their displeasure over the accusations by shaking their heads, but say nothing.

The Furies – Megaera, Tisiphone and Alecto, also shake their heads. Megaera speaks for the three of them.

"We, Furies, punish criminals and represent human conscience. These two are pure. We hold no sway over them."

Three very old women sat huddled together over a loom in a bright corner of the grotto. They are the Fates who spin the threads of human destiny. Their names are Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos. Their cracked and ancient voices rise in a cackle.

"I, Clotho, spin the thread of human fate. I wove only what Lachesis dispensed."

"I, Lachesis, dispensed only the thread allotted me by Cosmos, Entropy and Chaos."

"I, Atropos, cut the thread only when their time is finished. Their time has not yet ended. Hades has not called them to Tartarus or to the Isles. I have no part in this matter."

"Very well, I call upon Cosmos. What say you, Cosmos?"

A tall, skeletally lean form rises from a divan to a sitting position. It seems to examine carelessly its finger nails for a moment before answering. It stands and bows low to show its respect then begins to speak. The angelic tones spewing from the haunted shadows of its maw entrance all those gathered in the grotto.

"Mother, I create. I do not gratuitously destroy. I had no part in this. I would not defy your mercy. You know I support your decision in this whole heartedly and you know why. I believe you should direct your inquiry about this matter to my brothers, Entropy and Chaos."

He bows to her once more and resume his position on the divan.

"Very well, my son. I believe that is exactly what I shall do. Entropy? I call upon you, Entropy. What say you, Entropy?"

A portly, older man of medium height with dark brown skin and eyes steps forward from out of seemingly nowhere. His hair is long, straight and black as coal. He wears it swept back from his face, tied loosely at the base of his neck. He holds his steepled hands before him with his fingertips pointing straight up. He smiles broadly at everyone and no one.

"Mother, I sow the seeds of destruction only at the behest of Cosmos and Chaos. My actions may destroy, but you know that I am not evil. For even in destruction, there is the creation of new life. I am the only true neutral of the universe. I am single-minded in my purpose. I destroy. If I am guilty of anything in this matter, I am guilty only of acting as you created me to act."

"Very well, my son. You and I shall speak more of this later for you know better than this. Now, Chaos. My wayward child. What say you?"

A tall, handsome man stops his frantic pacing and looks up. His hair sparkles golden blonde in the dappled sunlight of the grotto. His lightly tanned skin is flawless and his eyes of an unnatural sapphire blue dazzle anyone unlucky enough or foolhardy enough to gaze into them. His tenor voice quavers with a nervous energy and his voice has a lilting, mocking yet timid, sing-song quality to it.

"Greetings, mother! How are you this fine day?"

"Chaos, my son. Must I constantly remind you to respect me? You wound my heart each time you disregard my wishes. Haven't you a care for your mother?

The voice seems to pout and as Chaos makes no effort to reply, the voice continues in a harsher tone.

"Take your true form, my son. Now!"

"As you wish, Mother."

The handsome young man withdraws from the sunlight and as he enters the darkest corner of the grotto, he transforms into a hovering shadowy, shapeless entity.

"Again, I ask of you, Chaos. You defy me. Why?"

All of the beings turn as one towards Chaos, who seems to withdraw further into the shadows. The being exudes confusion and disorder. His gray eyes flash with annoyance and the others quickly look away from him.

"Mother! You said that the woman should suffer. I carried out your judgment and nothing more."

The formless figure's voice is thin and reedy as he whines his response.

"That is the reasoning of a spoiled, petulant child. It was but a temporary punishment for her rejection of true love. You knew this, but you were jealous of your brother. You knew my punishment was a test of their devotion to one another and you chose to pursue a merciless vendetta. What did you think, my son? That if you could not have her, no one would. No. She was never yours to have. The Fates decided her mate since time out of mind. I was quite specific as to the test and resulting actions. Now, due to your meddling, I must interfere. I must undo what you have done. I must unravel the threads of fate."

The group lets out a collective gasp.

"Chaos, my son, you sorely disappoint me."

"But, mother!" He shrieks.

"No … you must go to your room and no playing with the mortals until I permit it."

The shadow rushes from the grotto a shrill keening following in his wake. Cosmos watches his fleeing brother with a smirk.

"Fine! Now, Clotho, you know what we must do …."

"Yes, I do. Very well, Goddess. Let us begin."

**Ω**٭**Ω**٭**Ω**٭**Ω**٭**Ω**

Unfortunately, it was only two kilometers later when the engine sputtered and then died. Spotting a muddy trail, I pull my car off the road and coast to a stop. The air inside the car becomes blue with the invectives to which my mouth gives voice. When I have at last exhausted my supply of swears and the red recedes from my vision, I find myself staring at a black older model Mini Cooper. Climbing out of my car and closing the door, I walk to the Mini to check it out. Noticing the tire tracks in the mud, I feel relief.

"_Seems to me that it couldn't have been here too long if I can see the tire tracks. I wonder where the owner is."_

As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I hear a woman's voice singing. After listening for a moment and concentrating on the direction of her voice, I grab my keys, lock up the car and begin my quest for the source of the music. The words soon become discernable to my ears and I smile.

"_I dreamt I dwelt in Marble Halls,  
with vassals and serfs at my side,  
and of all who assembled within those walls,  
that I was the hope and the pride. _

_I had riches all too great to count,  
and a high ancestral name,  
but I also dreamt, which pleased me most,  
that you loved me still the same. _

_That you loved me,  
you loved me still the same.  
That you loved me,  
you loved me still the same. _

_I dreamt that suitors sought my hand,  
that knights upon bended knee  
and with vows no maiden's heart could withstand,  
they pledged their faith to me. _

_And I dreamt that one of that noble host  
came forth my hand to claim,  
but I also dreamt, which charmed me most,  
that you loved me still the same. _

_That you loved me,  
you loved me still the same.  
That you loved me,  
you loved me still the same."  
**Traditional; Arranged by Enya & Nicky Ryan**_

I round a boulder and the sight before me shocks me to my very core. My feet feel as if someone cemented them to the ground. The owner of the voice sits perched on a rock with her back to me before a canvas, which rests on an easel with her paints and brushes set-up around her. She is a small, curvaceous yet slender, dark-haired woman with alabaster skin.

"_She fancies suede and leather … just like you, Erik."_

Her voice stuns me with its unearthly beauty and with the overwhelming sense of happiness contained in that voice. I have never heard anyone sing with so much emotion before.

"_How could anyone be a part of this world and still sing with such joyous abandon?"_

The voice whispers.

"_She is an angel."_

For once, I am in silent agreement with the voice, but for one minor word that needs to be changed.

"_No, she is **my** angel."_

As if the woman, my angel, can hear my thoughts, she begins to sing once more.

"_Spend all your time waiting,  
for that second chance,  
for a break that would make it okay.  
There's always one reason,  
to feel not good enough,  
and it's hard at the end of the day.  
I need some distraction.  
Oh, beautiful release.  
Memory seeps from my veins.  
Let me be empty,  
and weightless and maybe,  
I'll find some peace tonight. _

_In the arms of an angel,  
fly away from here.  
From this dark, cold hotel room,  
and the endlessness that you fear.  
You are pulled from the wreckage,  
of your silent reverie.  
You're in the arms of the angel,  
may you find some comfort there. _

_So tired of the straight line.  
And everywhere you turn,  
there's vultures and thieves at your back.  
And the storm keeps on twisting.  
You keep on building the lie  
that you make up for all that you lack.  
It don't make no difference.  
Escaping one last time.  
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness, oh!  
This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees. _

_In the arms of an angel,  
fly away from here.  
From this dark, cold hotel room,  
and the endlessness that you fear.  
You are pulled from the wreckage,  
of your silent reverie.  
You're in the arms of the angel,  
may you find some comfort there.  
You're in the arms of the angel,  
may you find some comfort there."  
**Music & Lyrics by Sarah McLachlan**_

I almost turn and walk away as I feel embarrassed for interrupting her solitude, but my feet still refuse to move. Then I realize that my mouth is hanging open and I'm staring at her like some kind of a lunatic, so I shut my mouth and shake my head. Where her first song was light and joyous, this song holds all the sorrow in the world contained within the crystalline pure sound of the woman's voice. I close my eyes and try to regain my composure, but her voice has awakened a longing in me. The voice inside my head whispers.

"_She is the one."_

Tired and annoyed by its constant pestering, I respond without thinking.

"Shut up!"

I clap my hand over my mouth, but I am too late, as the words have already escaped my lips. The woman's body gives a slight start and then she goes very still as she cocks her head, listening. Her left hand holds a brush hovering just above the surface of the canvas. And then, a trick of the wind saves me. I hear distant voices, a man's voice shouting and a child's voice answering. Her head scans the horizon and just before she turns to look in my direction, I duck behind a boulder.

"_What am I doing? I wanted to find someone to help me get petrol and I've found someone, but now I'm hiding."_

The voice whispers, _"You don't want her to think you told her to shut up …."_

"_Aw … please? Give me a break! Let me think!"_

The silence broken by the soft, gentle sound of the woman's brief chuckle.

"_Well, that was a close call. What do you intend to do for an encore? Okay, Erik, time to think with your big head and not the little one."_

Again, my feet refuse to move.

"_Aw, bloody hell! It's now or never, Erik. Do or die. So what are you gonna do?"_

My body answers my question as my feet start to move and I find myself walking back around the boulder towards the woman. Her concentration on the glorious view of land, sea and sky as she captures it with her oils and brush.

"_Well, here goes something, I hope."_

I clear my throat and open my mouth to speak, but the words freeze in my throat, my mouth hanging open as she whirls about to face me, reacting to the sound of my clearing throat.

"_Oh my God! Her face … she is absolutely beautiful!"_

**Ω**٭**Ω**٭**Ω**٭**Ω**٭**Ω**

The man and woman walk blissfully hand-in-hand through the wild grass. The ground is flat and it is an easy walk to the precipice. Cautiously, they halt several meters away from the edge and gaze out over the wild sea. The wind whips their hair, but neither seems to mind. The serenity of their faces perfectly matched. The woman leans her head to rest on the man's upper arm. The man immediately moves his arm and drapes it about the woman bringing her closer to him. He leans his head to rest his cheek on the top of her head. The woman raises her hand up and the sunlight glistens off the diamonds, which adorn one of the two gold bands she wears on the third finger of her left hand.

"A star." She murmurs. "It reminds me of a star twinkling. Look! It burns with all of the colors of Sirius and yet, it burns now. Sirius cannot even do that … it cannot burn bright enough to be seen by the naked eye under the light of the sun." She snickers softly. "A daytime star …."

The man chuckles and turns his head to place a kiss on the top of her head.

"I love you, Cairistíona Muiríol Murron Keith-DeMornay. My wife."

Lowering her hand, she leans deeper into his embrace, closing her eyes, smiling and sighing happily.

"I love you, too, Erik Delano Corbin DeMornay. My husband."

They stand silently appreciating the gift they received. The gift of one another's unconditional forgiveness and love. They remember everything, but more importantly realize memories are simply things that happened in the past. It is in the now that they must live, love and appreciate each moment the fates allow them before today becomes but another yesterday. Pulling away from her husband, she turns to stare intently at the man. Her gaze runs slowly up and down him as she stores the moment away as another cherished keepsake. She marks the moment with the words.

"I never knew I could smile so much, never realized life would ever gift me with anything that would make me this happy."

Again, their fingers touch and the sparks elicited by the contact of skin on skin, send a flush of fire through both the man and the woman. The man speaks first. His voice is gruff and his breathing is uneven.

"Christy, let's go inside. If it is alright with you, I need to make love to my bride."

"Why, my groom, I thought you'd never ask."

She lets out a shriek of surprise as he scoops her up into his arms. He looks into her beautiful hazel-green eyes and she looks into his blue-green eyes. He lowers his head and gently places a chaste kiss upon her lips.

"Erik, I think you need to put me down. You'll never be able to carry me all the way back."

"I'm stronger than you think, my love."

"Well, be that as it may, I'd like you to reserve some of your strength for our wedding night. Do you know?"

She winks and impishly grins up at him. He blinks.

"Oh!"

He lowers her gently to the ground.

With a devilish smile, she begins to run as she cries.

"I'll race you back!"

Her feet fly over the uneven ground. She knows every hillock, paddock, brook, gully, field and pond within 10 kilometers by heart. She knows the path to her home, the castle, so well she could run there with her eyes closed. Her long, straight black hair flies behind her streaming through the air like a medieval banner. Throwing her arms up into the air, she leaps over a pile of stones hidden beneath the grass. He watches her for a moment stunned into stillness by the sight of her complete delight and wild abandon.

"_She is a nymph ... an angelic nymph."_

Her laughter breaks his trance and grinning, he races after her.

**Ω**٭**Ω**٭**Ω**٭**Ω**٭**Ω**

He enters the room that is now their bedroom to find his bride naked and panting on the bed. Her clothing strewn wildly about the room. She sits facing him, her legs drawn to her chest with her arms wrapped about them with her long, black hair flowing about her body like an ebony wedding veil.

"Dearest, one of us has on way too many clothes." She purrs.

"Well, perhaps, we should cut your hair then."

"You wouldn't dare!" She cries in mock alarm.

"You're right. I wouldn't."

Their eyes lock and he walks towards her. His hands move to the buttons of his shirt to quickly undo the buttons and shrug the shirt from his body. Never breaking contact with her eyes, he lowers his hands to his jeans with a tug and push, the jeans fall to the floor. He climbs onto the bed, kneeling before her, he bends to lift her hair and moves it to her back. His hands run down her back and his lips brush along her neck leaving a burning trail of light, feathery kisses in their wake. She moans, arching her back unconsciously providing him with more of her neck to kiss. Her arms go weak, releasing her legs, as his kisses intensify she leans back onto the mattress with her hands behind her for support. His mouth travels up her throat, over her chin and back to her mouth. His lips mesh perfectly with hers and after a few heated moments, his tongue requests entry and she allows the kiss to deepen. She gasps at the depths of his passion for her and her elbows buckle. Her back presses into the mattress and a soft whoosh escapes her mouth as his weight knocks the air from her. He draws back, concerned. She shakes her head, smiling. Her arms move to his back. Her hands alternate between massaging and caressing the broad, well-muscled expanse. Their lips continue to explore, kissing eyebrows, cheeks, noses, foreheads and eyes. It is only when the woman concentrates her attention on his chin that the man completely loses control. The man shudders and calls out as she runs her tongue along the cleft in the center of his chin.

"Oh, God!"

"I've wanted to do that ever since I first met you." She admits breathlessly.

He growls an incomprehensible response and moves his body over hers. His mouth joins hers, their tongues delving deeply in exploration. He breaks away from her mouth, trailing down her neck, leaving kisses and small nips as he moves lower and lower. His hand moves to her breast, cupping it at the same instant his mouth captures her nipple. She gasps and rocks her hips into him as he suckles her. Seizing his hand, she moves it to her face, nuzzling it against her cheek and then moves it to her mouth. Opening her mouth, she moves at first one and then two of his fingers into her mouth. Pumping the fingers in and out, she licks and sucks them as her hips rock more insistently against him. His mouth leaves her breast as he watches her with amazement. Smiling up at her, he moves his free hand down her body and palms her mound. Pressing his palm against her hidden nub, his fingers gently part her flesh and dip inside her. She is hot and slick with arousal. They both moan in anticipation. He pulls his fingers from her mouth, replacing them with his mouth. She reaches down and grasps his hardened flesh, her hand almost encompassing its girth. He thrusts into her grip and she guides him to the place that aches for him. She rubs him against her entrance and his tip becomes wet. She arches up and he thrusts down. As he moves inside, he feels the barrier of her maidenhead and pauses. He moves to withdraw, but she holds him tightly.

"Please, don't stop!" She whispers. "I want you! I need you!"

His body lowers and he enters her completely. She cries out in both pain and ecstasy. For a moment, they are both still. She was a virgin and he had never made love before. Certainly, at 27 years of age, he had had sex, but never before this moment did he understand what it was to make love.

Then their bodies needed more and they began the dance as old as the human race. She arching up and he thrusting down. Slowly, the dance began and as the music of the cosmos filled their minds, the rhythm increased moving rapidly towards the ultimate crescendo. She cried out as her body fell over the edge and pulsed its arrival at the point of bliss. The clenching of her body then pushed him to join her and he found completion in their act of lovemaking.

They lay panting and joined, neither wishing to break the bond of their bodies. He lifted his head to look into her eyes and smiled. Her hair covered one of her eyes, so he carefully brushed it from her face. She smiled at him and gently pulled his head down to kiss his lips. Raising his head from the kiss, he caressed her cheek with his thumb. She spoke.

"Oh, Erik, I love you …."

After devouring her face with his eyes, he replied ….

"Oh, Christy!"


	81. Epilogue

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse – A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One

* * *

** **Chapter Eighty-One – Epilogue**

The multiverse sighed, each of its threads lay neatly aligned in parallel rows once more. The strands of fate no longer tangled. The song of the stars sounding in harmony, all hint of dissonance banished from existence.

The bodies of the two lovers were slick with the evidence of their recent exertions. Their limbs blissfully entangled and their eyes beginning to droop into sleep.

The woman breathily murmured into her lover's ear.

"How do you do that? Ten years of married life and you still leave me as breathless as the first time."

The man's mouth smirked into a mischievous grin.

"It is just a talent of mine or that's what all the girls tell me."

The woman gave the man a half-hearted smack on the arm.

"Oh? Is that so? Well, maybe I just won't tell you the latest gossip I heard when I was in town today."

"Gossip? And why would I care about gossip?"

Curiosity overrode his need to fall asleep.

"Well, it is about you after all."

"About me? Why would anyone gossip about me? No one in town really knows me."

"Well, it's not just about you. It's about both of us."

"Christy, please? Just tell me what you want me to know."

"Oh, you're no fun sometimes."

"And, you … you are avoiding answering me. Come one, my love. Give it up. What's the gossip?"

She gazes at him for a moment, her sparkling eyes hooded by her thick lashed. With her voice barely a whisper, she breathes into his ear.

"We're going to be parents, Erik."

"We are?"

She nods.

"Again?"

She smiles.

"Yes, again."

"Good. Adrianna will be ecstatic! So, my love, have you chosen names?"

"You know that I have."

"And your choices for our child are?"

"If we have a son, Brandon Erik DeMornay. If we have a daughter, Trystin Ariel DeMornay."

"I vote for another daughter. We've been lucky with the one we have and I like being surrounded by beautiful women." He grinned.

"Well, the thought of having another daughter somehow feels right. I think it would make our family perfect and complete, but most importantly, I vote for a healthy child."

"I'll vote for that as well, my love."

"I'm feeling a little tired, Erik."

"Go to sleep, ma chère cœur. I will be here when you awaken. I will always be here. I love you so very much, Christy."

"I love you, Erik. And, I always will."

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**Author's Note: ****Mominator, I dedicate this Epilogue to you…

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**


	82. L'acte Final

**Christine dans Deux**

An Alternate Multiverse – A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

**

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DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One****

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****Chapter Eighty-Two – L'acte Final **

I watched in horror as the love of my life, my husband, the other half of my soul thrashed about my dressing room. He screamed and called out my name. He fell to his knees and held his head in both hands as if he thought his head would come apart from the pain. Try as I might, I could not hear his thoughts nor could I feel his pain. I could only stand and watch in silent terror as the man I love beyond words sank to the floor. His eyes seemed to meet mine, but I realized that he was not really looking at me, but through me. In despair, I finally broke free of the invisible chains, which seemed to bind me to the spot and rushed to his side. I called his name, but no sound issued from my mouth. In an attempt to draw him into my arms, I placed my hands on his shoulders, but I found no purchase. My hands simply slipped through his body. Stunned, I fell back upon my heels and watched as he writhed and moaned my name until he moved no more.

I screamed. As my cry found its way out of my mouth, I discovered I could not stop it. The wail wound on and on, growing ever in power, until I felt as if I would burst from its overwhelming intensity.

And then, there was blessed silence.

Ω ☼ Ω ☼ Ω

There was nothingness. No, that was not right. There was something. Something or someone was shaking me. Someone was holding my shoulder and shaking me, trying to capture my attention. My mind allowed me to register the thought that I should open my eyes, which I did.

I opened my eyes and looked into the sad and slightly frightened eyes of my daughter, Trystin.

"Mom? Are you all right? I think you were having a bad dream."

Looking around, I found I was in my den. I had been sleeping on the couch, just as I always do. Seeing Trystin's anxious face, I smile at her gently and open my arms to her. She leans into my embrace and I hug her and stroke her long, black hair.

"It's alright." I croon. "Don't worry. Mommy just had a bad dream, but it's over now."

My heart broke as my mouth spoke those lying words, but at least I was able to comfort my child.

Ω ☼ Ω ☼ Ω

Life went back to the same dull routine and I found that during the day, I could convince myself that everything that happened had been a dream. A rather realistic and detailed dream, but a dream and nothing more.

However, at night if I could find sleep at all, my dreams were full of turmoil and tears. I was searching, always searching, so close to the object of my desire. I was seeking and yet, I could never find what I sought. Who or whatever it was, lay just beyond my reach.

And so, I found myself with another quiet Friday night debating with Trystin what movie we should watch. Her movie of choice was _"Disney's High School Musical."_ I tried to protest that we had watched that movie just the night before, but she overrode my objection with a question of her own.

"How many times have we watched _"The Phantom of the Opera"_?"

I smiled weakly and allowed her to put her movie in the player. I handed her the remote and settled back preparing myself for the pre-teen angst and happy ending.

"_There are no happily-ever-afters."_

The words echoed in my head and I rubbed at my temple in a vain attempt to erase the headache forming there.

I gave an involuntary sigh and shifted slightly in an attempt to find a position, which would allow the burning in my leg to ease. Of course, there is no such arrangement and therefore, no relief. I closed my eyes and waited for the movie's menu to come on the screen. When I heard the haunting melody begin to play, my eyes flew open in surprise and I looked at Trystin questioningly.

"Surprise! I thought you might want to see Erik. I know I do. I miss him, Mom. Don't you?"

Too stunned to reply, I sat there and watched as she pressed 'play' and then proceeded to fast forward through the movie. She released the button on the remote as soon as she saw Erik's face become visible in Christine's mirror. The movie began to play and Trystin moved back from the television, as she seemed to wait for something.

The image on the screen changed to the Phantom's gloved hand reaching out for Christine and I gasped. Trystin giggled and jumped happily up and down. The gloved hand slid from the television and it seemed that the man within was drawn into the room.

There he stood in all his resplendent glory. The masked Phantom dressed for his first meeting with Christine Daae and yet, he seemed not at all confused by his appearance in our world.

"Christine!"

I moaned. His voice was just as soft and deep as I remembered. He held out his hand to me and I looked up at him and then down to his hand. I raised my hand to his and he pulled me up from the couch. My leg felt weak and I wobbled a bit, but I did not fall as he quickly drew me into his embrace. I buried my face into the warmth of his chest and savored his comforting scent.

"How is this possible?"

He gently pushed me back from him and looked into my eyes.

"Ma chère cœur! You cannot ask how or why, we earned this."

I lifted my fingers to his face and carefully slid the piece of white leather from his face.

"What is it that we earned, Erik?"

He smiled and Trystin laughed.

"Oh Mom! Don't you know?"

I looked first from the man, then to my daughter and then back to the man again as I shook my head. I heard the laughter in my daughter's voice as Erik's lips found mine.

"Oh, Mom. This really and truly is our happy ending!"

And, just as Trystin predicted, they all lived happily-ever-after.


End file.
